


i can take you to the place of delight

by futuresoon



Series: delight [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Depression, Dissociation, Double Penetration, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, One-Sided Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Oral Sex, PTSD, Psychological Horror, Tentacle Sex, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 65,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: “I understand that you think you’re doing the right thing,” Akira says. “But what makes someone happy isn’t necessarily what’s best for them. Sometimes a person getting what they want will only end up hurting them.”Maruki squeezes Akira’s shoulder. “Well,” he says, smiling. “Sometimes it’s okay to get what you want. Sometimes what you want is what you need, too.”(This is a horror story.)
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Maruki Takuto, Maruki Takuto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: delight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024687
Comments: 120
Kudos: 471





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a horror story. It is not meant to be a positive portrayal of a healthy, consensual relationship. If you don't want to read a work of fiction containing those themes, please do not read this.
> 
> While this fic is tagged "Extremely Dubious Consent", that is to reflect that the victim believes the sex to be consensual. However, it is not; thus, be aware that this fic contains several scenes of explicit rape.
> 
> Also, I have no objection to fluffy Marushu fics! This just isn't one of them.
> 
> Title from "Throw Away Your Mask".

The heat-haze of summer shimmers in the thick, muggy Tokyo air. Akira wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead, frowning slightly when it just results in having more sweat on his hand.

He tries to be inconspicuous about wiping his hand on his uniform pants. There are still plenty of people milling around the entrance to Shujin, students finishing club activities or waiting for their friends or just searching for a shady place to stand. He checks his phone again; Ryuji still hasn’t responded.

_“I just gotta go see Ms. Chouno about a makeup test, I’ll be right back and we can go to the station together, yeah? Besides, you could use a break after all that training. Go sit on the stairs or something. I’ll be out soon.”_

But it’s been ten minutes, and Ryuji hasn’t texted anything, and the stairs are crowded, and Akira’s pretty sure if he has to stand around in this heat any longer he’s literally going to melt.

He checks his phone again.

_Ding!_

**Ryuji:** sorry dude, chouno’s making me do the stupid test RIGHT NOW, you’re on your own  
**Akira:** You couldn’t have told me that ten minutes ago?  
**Ryuji:** i wasn’t gonna start texting while she was talking dude  
**Akira:** Dude  
**Ryuji:** dude

Any further conversation is unlikely to be productive. Akira exhales deeply and puts his phone back in his pocket.

Propped up on his shoulder, Morgana lets out a frustrated yowl.

“Yeah, I know,” Akira says heavily. “Let’s just get going.”

“You’re not the one who has to sit in this furnace of a bag,” Morgana grumps. _“You_ think it’s hot? I’m gonna be charcoal if we don’t get somewhere air-conditioned _now.”_

Akira pats him on the head. Morgana sputters.

The walk to the station is at least another ten minutes, though. Morgana knows that, Akira knows that, whatever, it’s too hot to keep thinking about it. Akira starts walking past the school gate and resigns himself to ten minutes of melting.

Before he takes a step onto the street, though, a car pulls up in front of him. 

Akira doesn’t know much about cars, but it looks kind of cheap. The driver-side window rolls down with a rickety hum, revealing Maruki, blinking at him in surprise.

“Kurusu-kun?” Maruki says. “What’re you doing out here in this weather? I thought you’d be with one of your friends somewhere cool.”

Akira shrugs. “I was training with Ryuji in the gym,” he says, and explains the rest of the story.

Maruki nods sympathetically. “I see,” he says. “Well, I’m heading out myself. I don’t have anywhere I need to be right now, so I could give you a lift if you want? My car’s on the old side, but it’s got AC, at least.”

Akira doesn’t need even a moment to think about it. “That’d be great, thanks,” he says.

Maruki grins, gestures to the passenger seat. Akira walks around the car and gets in. The moment he does, he and Morgana both let out a deep, blissful sigh as the blessed air conditioning envelopes them.

“That bad, huh?” Maruki says, glancing over at Akira while he locks the doors again and puts his foot on the gas.

Akira nods as he puts on his seatbelt. Morgana hops out of the bag to settle on top of it in Akira’s lap. “I was waiting for like ten minutes, it was rough,” Akira says.

“Well, I’m happy I could help,” Maruki says warmly. “Do you usually get stuck waiting like that?”

Akira shakes his head. “Nah, usually it’s just me and Mona,” he says. “I just head straight to the station after I’m done with whatever.”

“Mona, huh,” Maruki says, glancing at Morgana, who gazes back at him with a thankful but wary blue eye. “I heard you had a cat, but you haven’t brought him to any of our sessions, so I wasn’t sure.”

Akira looks down at Morgana. “You want some counseling, Mona?” he asks. “Get a sympathetic ear for all your complaints about how I’m not feeding you enough?”

Morgana puts on a remarkably affronted expression for a cat. “Boss feeds me plenty!” he says. “It’d just be nice if I could get some variety sometimes. Something cold, maybe. With a delicate flavor.”

“I’m not buying you sushi.”

“I didn’t say sushi!”

Maruki holds a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Talkative fellow, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, sometimes he just won’t shut up,” Akira says laconically.

Morgana swats his hand.

“I don’t know if it’s strictly allowed to bring cats to school,” Maruki says. He makes a turn to the next street over. “But don’t worry, I won’t rat you out. I’ll just think of him as a therapy cat.”

“He’s a good listener, I’ll give him that,” Akira says.

Mollified, Morgana settles back down on his lap.

Maruki gives a wry smile. “Better than me?”

Akira returns it. “Well, with you half the time it seems like _I’m_ the one doing the listening, so…”

“You got me there,” Maruki says begrudgingly, slowing the car for a stoplight. “I don’t mean to keep putting so much on you. But sometimes it’s hard to resist a good sounding board.”

“At least I get snacks out of it,” Akira says.

Maruki laughs. The light turns green, and the car starts moving again. “Any requests, by the way? I’m starting to run out, I need to do a supply run soon.”

Akira thinks about it. “Something cold?” he says. “There’s a minifridge in the nurse’s office. I bet you’d get a lot more visitors if you advertised free popsicles.”

“You may have a point there,” Maruki says. He gives a low sigh. “The students still aren’t completely warming up to me, it seems. I only saw one today, and I think she was mostly there for the cookies.”

“They just need time to get used to you,” Akira says. “I’ve told my friends they should give you a chance, at least.”

“Oh? That’s very kind of you,” Maruki says, smiling. “I’m sure it’ll work out if I’ve got you on my side.”

“I do what I can,” Akira says honestly.

When they finally arrive at Yongen-Jaya, there’s not enough room in the road for the car to go any farther, so Maruki lets him out before they get to Leblanc. “Thanks for the ride,” Akira says as he opens the door, Morgana meowing in agreement.

“It was no trouble,” Maruki says, giving a dismissive gesture. “Anything for my favorite student.”

Akira smiles, and waves goodbye, and watches Maruki drive off.

“He seems nice,” Morgana remarks.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Akira says. “I think I can learn a lot from him. Assuming he lets me get a word in edgewise.”

“Now hurry up and get back to Leblanc,” Morgana says, batting his head with a paw. “There’s a fan there with our name on it.”

The muggy summer evening continues uneventfully.

\---

September brings no relief from the heat.

“This coffee really is delicious,” Maruki says, lowering his cup back onto the plate. “I know I said that the last time I was here, but it’s worth mentioning again. I’m amazed you only started learning last spring.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Sojiro’s a good teacher,” he says. “And I get a lot of opportunity to practice.”

“I must say, I’m curious about that curry you mentioned,” Maruki says. He rests an elbow on the table, puts his chin in his hand. “Have you been learning that too?”

Akira nods, and gestures to the kitchen, where a large pot continues to simmer. “I actually made that one today,” he says. “Weeknights are slow, so sometimes Sojiro lets me use the ingredients if he keeps an eye on me.” Weekends are also slow, but Maruki doesn’t need to know that. “Want to try some?”

Maruki’s eyes light up. “Certainly!” he says. “I’ll pay for it, of course.”

Akira dishes up a plate of curry and rice and carries it back, setting it in front of Maruki. Steam rises from the plate.

“It smells wonderful,” Maruki says. “Thank you for the food.” He picks up the spoon and takes a bite, chews happily. When he swallows, he grins and says, “Just as good as the coffee, if not better. I’m glad I decided to stop by tonight. I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

Akira’s evenings are often busy, it’s true, as are his afternoons, and schooldays, and basically all of the time. It’s a happy coincidence that tonight’s a rare night where nobody’s calling for his attention. Except Maruki, that is.

Akira shrugs. “Sojiro’s still a lot better than me, though, so you probably would’ve had a better dinner if I wasn’t.”

“Ah, but that assumes the food was all I came here for,” Maruki says. He takes another sip of coffee. “It’s delicious, don’t get me wrong, but what I was really hoping for was the pleasure of your company. It’s nice to have a friendly face around.”

Akira raises an eyebrow. “You don’t get a lot of friendly faces?”

“I wouldn’t put it _that_ way,” Maruki says, his eyes widening slightly. “My research keeps me busy, so I don’t have much time to see my old college friends. And my coworkers at Shujin have been very nice to me, but…how should I put this.” He purses his lips. “I don’t have much in common with them. Cognitive psience is something of a niche interest.”

“I’m not exactly a cognitive psientist either, you know,” Akira says, which probably isn’t technically a lie. He hasn’t written any papers on it, at least.

“But you have an open mind about it, and your perspective has already given me extremely valuable insights,” Maruki says. “If you put your mind to it, I’m sure you’d be an asset to the field.” He smiles. “You’re certainly an asset to me.”

Akira gives a polite smile back. Maruki takes another bite of curry, and for a few moments, Leblanc is silent.

“So yes, I do value our time together,” Maruki says, once he’s swallowed. “You’re an extraordinary young man, Kurusu-kun. I hope you know that.”

It’s an old instinct of Akira’s to demur, say he’s nothing special and redirect the conversation. But even he has to admit that he is sort of out of the ordinary these days. Still, he can’t exactly tell Maruki that. “Thanks, I guess,” he says, fiddling with a lock of his hair. 

“Intelligent, charming, thoughtful…” Maruki gestures at the plate of curry. “You’re even a good cook. I’m sure your girlfriend must be very happy.”

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Akira says, shaking his head. For a lot of reasons.

Maruki’s eyes widen. “Really? I thought for sure you were dating Takamaki-san. I must’ve been mistaken.”

“Yeah, a lot of people think that,” Akira says heavily. 

“Well, that’s a shame,” Maruki says, taking another sip of coffee. “You’ll find the right girl eventually. I’m sure you have plenty of admirers.”

“Not at school,” Akira says. “Everyone still kinda hates me there.”

Maruki winces. “Right. I almost forgot about that. It’s hard to remember when you’re so nice in person.”

Determined to get off the topic of girls, Akira says, “How’s your work going, anyway?”

Maruki brightens. “Oh, it’s going quite well,” he says. “I think I might be getting close to a breakthrough, mostly due to your contributions. I’ll let you know when I have something new to report. Are you sure you’re not interested in studying it yourself? I’d be happy to put in a word for you at my alma mater.”

Akira shakes his head. It’s certainly an idea, trying to juggle studying the Metaverse with exploring it, but it sounds stressful. “I don’t think academia’s for me. I’d prefer something quieter.”

Maruki glances around the room. “Like this café, I assume?”

“Maybe,” Akira says. Sometimes he thinks about a pipe dream of working here forever, being a phantom thief on the side for the rest of his life, but a pipe dream is all it is. He knows his life here will have to change eventually.

“Not to disparage Sakura-san, but it’d be a waste to lose you to the service industry,” Maruki says, frowning. “You really do have a remarkable mind. I’d hate to see you stagnate somewhere that doesn’t deserve you.”

Akira shrugs. “Well, at least you could still try my cooking,” he says.

Maruki laughs, the frown fading from his face. “There is that, yes,” he says, and returns to his curry.

No other customers come that night, and it’s just the two of them for the rest of the evening.

\---

Shibusawa’s laugh fills the opulent interior of the Wilton. “You blow my mind sometimes!” he says, grinning. “I swear, you’ve gotta be the most stubborn person in the world!”

Maruki’s friend seems like a nice guy, Akira thinks. He’s definitely friendly, and seems to care about Maruki a lot; Akira gets the impression they must’ve been good friends back in the day. It’s a shame they’ve apparently lost touch.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Maruki says, looking a little downtrodden. “And anyway, it’s not 100% complete yet. I haven’t even begun the peer review process.”

If possible, Shibusawa seems to brighten even more. “Oh, seriously?” he says. “I’d be more than happy to review it for you. I mean, I did perform all the peer reviews for your publications in college!”

Visibly startled, Maruki says, “Huh?” And then he collects himself, smiles sheepishly. “That’d be great, honestly. But I don’t mean to take up too much of your time--you should go back to your friends, we can get in touch later.”

Shibusawa deflates a little. “If you’re sure,” he says. He stands up from his chair. “It was nice meeting you,” he says, looking over at Akira. “If you’re the reason he’s been making progress, keep up the good work.”

Akira smiles. “I’ll do what I can,” he says.

“I’ll talk to you later, Maruki,” Shibusawa says, and waves, and leaves the table, heading off somewhere to find the people he came here with.

Maruki lets out a sigh. “Sorry he barged in like that,” he says. “It’s nice to see an old friend, but I’d rather catch up with him one-on-one, not while I’m with you.”

“It looked like he meant well, though,” Akira offers.

“I’m sure he did,” Maruki says. “Shibusawa’s a great guy, you’d probably like him. But, well.” His smile turns a little conspiratorial. “I know him, and if he’d kept getting hyped up like that he probably would’ve offered to pay for our meal. And I wanted to treat you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Akira says honestly. He’s sort of curious what Maruki’s old friends are like. And it doesn’t really make a difference to him who’s paying, so long as it’s not him.

Maruki shakes his head. “That’s the trouble with you, you never mind,” he says. “It’s okay to put yourself first sometimes, you know? Though I suppose that’s what’s charming about you, too.”

Akira smiles a little awkwardly. He’s still not entirely comfortable with praise.

“Anyway, dig in!” Maruki says, gesturing to the food covering their table. “Try as much as you want, it’s on me.”

Akira tries a bite of the strawberry crepe cake Ann had last time. It’s delicious, just like she said. He makes an approving noise.

Maruki gives a fond smile. “It’s good, right? I hoped you’d like it.”

Akira swallows and nods. “I came here once before with my friends,” he says. “We saved up some money for it. It tastes as good as I remember.”

Maruki’s smile dims a little. “I must admit I’m a little disappointed I’m not the first person to take you here,” he says. “But I suppose what matters is that you’re here with me now.”

Akira keeps eating. There’s a lot of food left, it’s gonna get cold if they leave it there.

After a while, Maruki says, “Seeing Shibusawa does bring back old memories. The early days of my research were so exciting--everything was brand new to me, and it felt like I was becoming a part of something that could really change society someday.”

“And it stopped being exciting?” Akira asks, swallowing a bite of steak.

“Well…” Maruki purses his lips. “There was a shakeup in the field a couple years ago. Most of the research was put on hold, or canceled entirely. As far as I know, there hasn’t really been any progress since.”

Akira’s pretty sure he knows what Maruki’s referring to. He wonders if Maruki ever met Wakaba, if they might’ve become friends. In another world, would Futaba have known him as her mom’s coworker? But there’s no point thinking about it.

“And…” Maruki’s voice takes a melancholy shade. “There were some personal issues, as well.”

Akira nods at him in a silent _go on._

Maruki hesitates. “A subject for a different time, perhaps. I’d rather enjoy the present with you than get bogged down in the past.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Akira says. He’s listened to plenty of sad stories for the sake of his friends, he doesn’t mind hearing more. 

Maruki’s smile is warm and bright. “You really are remarkable,” he says. “As exciting as those early days were, I’ve found a lot to appreciate in how it all turned out. I’d never have met you if I was still working in that lab. And then where would I be without your insights? And your company in general, of course.”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured this stuff out if you still had those resources, you don’t really need a high schooler’s help,” Akira says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Maruki shakes his head. “Honestly, I barely think of you as being in high school,” he says. “There’s a maturity about you I don’t see in the other students. Even if you don’t have as much experience with the world as an adult, you seem much more capable of dealing with whatever life throws at you. I’ve known plenty of adults I wouldn’t trust as much as I trust you.”

It does kind of feel nice to be told that. Akira’s definitely met his share of adults he wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw them. “Thanks,” he says, smiling a little.

Maruki beams. “It’s no trouble at all,” he says. “Now eat up, there’s plenty left and I want you to enjoy as much as you can.”

The rest of the food is just as delicious. Akira goes home feeling warm and content.

\---

The scent of tempura lingers in the air even after they’ve finished eating.

“I hadn’t mentioned any of this until now because, well…I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way and question my motives,” Maruki says, his hands folded in front of him on the table. “Though I did intend to use the information gained from you for my research, I do genuinely enjoy your company, and I like to think you’ve benefitted from our sessions as well. Phantom Thieves or no, I’ve enjoyed knowing you.” He smiles. “I hope this little revelation doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

 _On the recent scale of betrayals this one is absolutely inconsequential,_ Akira doesn’t say. “It’s not like you’ll be using your research to hurt people,” he says, shrugging. “Using cognition to help people with their trauma sounds pretty adjacent to what we do.”

Maruki smiles again. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Even if it’s on a different track, I’m happy to know our goals connect. A world where cognition can be used to its fullest positive potential would benefit you too. In fact, the Phantom Thieves might not be entirely needed in such a world--” He holds up his hands, eye widening. “Ah, no, don’t get me wrong, I have no interest in disbanding you! I don’t even know if my work could be completed in my lifetime. I’m sure the Phantom Thieves will continue to be a force for good for quite some time.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he says, and doesn’t say, _or maybe I’ll be dead in two days, who knows._

Maruki frowns. “You seem a little distracted,” he says. “Is everything going well?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Akira says, shaking his head. “Just some general stress. School, friends, you know how it is.” _One friend in particular. Is that even the right word for it? I don’t know. I hope it is._

“Well, I _am_ technically still your counselor,” Maruki says with a wry smile. “I’d be happy to listen if you need to talk about it.”

For a moment, Akira thinks about telling him. Maruki already knows roughly what the Phantom Thieves do, he’d believe the more fantastical elements--but the entirety of the plan is too much to spill. 

Still. If there’s anyone who could help him at least sort out some emotions, it’d probably be a counselor. And Maruki’s always been friendly.

Akira exhales. “The Phantom Thieves are going to do something kind of risky soon,” he says. “It’s just weighing on my mind a little.”

Maruki sits back in his chair, folds his hands in his lap. “Riskier than usual?” he asks.

Akira nods. “We’ve got a plan, and I know it’ll work,” he absolutely fucking lies. “But usually we’re all together, and the plan requires me to be on my own for a while. I guess I’m just a little nervous I’ll mess it up somehow.”

“From what I can tell, you’ve been very successful so far,” Maruki says. “Is there a reason you think this time will be different?”

Akira hesitates. “The plan involves lying to someone I care about,” he says. “If it fails, things’ll get kinda rough for me, but if it succeeds, it’ll probably hurt him a lot. And I don’t really want to do that.”

Maruki brings his thumb and forefinger to his chin. “So you’re dealing with a lot of complicated emotions right now,” he says. “It’s understandable that you’d be stressed out by it. Have you considered sharing your misgivings with your friends? They might be willing to alter the plan if they know you’re not comfortable with it.”

Akira shakes his head. “The plan’ll work,” he says, because it has to. “I don’t want to bother them about it, it’ll just make them more stressed too.”

Maruki gives a sad little smile. “They’re your friends, Kurusu-kun,” he says. “They’ll be happy to help you if you let them.”

“…I know,” Akira says. “I don’t think there’s much they can do about it, anyway. If I complain, they’ll get worried, and then I’ll just feel worse, so it won’t help at all.”

“Empathy is a valuable trait,” Maruki says. “But getting lost in it does more harm than good. Sometimes you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else.”

Akira feels a little like a kid being told not to run with scissors. “I’m not very good at that,” he says quietly.

Maruki leans forward, reaches across the table, puts a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “Life is a learning process,” he says. “You might think you have all the answers now, but there’s so much more to life you haven’t discovered yet. I’d like to help you with that, but first, you have to admit that help is needed.”

Akira stares at him. His face is almost painfully gentle. “How can I do that?” he asks.

Maruki smiles. “Well, for starters, you can talk to your friends,” he says. “I bet they’re a lot tougher than you think they are, they can handle worrying about you without getting distracted. But in general, I think you could use a break. Take some time off from solving everyone’s problems. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

 _Dying, maybe._ The little flicker of hope Akira was starting to feel goes out.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be pretty busy for a while,” he says. “The plan’s gonna take up a lot of my time.”

Maruki sighs. “Oh, well,” he says. “Another time, maybe.” He squeezes Akira’s shoulder and draws back, sits down again.

“I may be leaving Shujin, but feel free to call on me any time,” he says. “I’m usually available in the evenings. You’ve helped me a great deal; it’s only fair I repay the favor. Seriously. If you ever need someone to talk to, or to just unwind with, I’m here for you.”

It’s a nice suggestion. Maybe he’ll actually take him up on it, if he isn’t dead.

“I’ll think about it,” Akira says.

Maruki gives a warm smile. “That’s all I ask,” he says.

And the lunch bell rings.

“Guess we’re out of time,” Maruki says. “I’ll clean this up, you get back to class.”

They both stand up. Akira walks around the table, towards the door.

“Thanks again,” Maruki says, holding out his hand. “I mean it. The past six months have meant a lot to me.”

Akira takes his hand, lets Maruki shake. “They’ve been pretty eventful for me too,” he says.

Maruki’s hand is as warm as his smile, and firm, too, gripping Akira’s with a comfortable pressure. “I’ll see you around, Kurusu-kun,” Maruki says.

As Akira lets go, Maruki’s fingertips briefly brush against his, a scarce second of one last touch.

Akira waves as he leaves. The events of the next few days still sit heavily in his stomach, but maybe there’s something to look forward to, once it’s all over.

Of course, first he has to get there.

\---

Akira doesn’t really want to think about any of it.

Takemi’s drugs have taken most of the pain, but she warned him not to take too many in 24 hours, and she probably knows what she’s talking about. So he doesn’t take as many as he wants to, tries to stretch it out. Tries to look alert whenever the others are around. Tries to sleep when he should be. Tries to think about anything besides a needle, or a cold hard floor, or words he could barely understand through the ringing in his head.

He sits in bed and stares at the messages on his phone, Morgana curled up against his thigh. The team’ll be meeting tomorrow for another go at finding Shido’s keywords. He hasn’t done anything today since they got back, just sat in bed and stared at his phone and tried not to think about anything, at all.

The officers didn’t even let him _talk--_

His phone buzzes. 

He looks at the new notification, distantly. There are plenty of other messages he hasn’t responded to yet. He probably should. But if he has to type, he has to think about what he’s typing, and the idea just exhausts him so much he leaves them on read for hours or days.

The new message is from Maruki.

 **Maruki:** I’ve been watching the news. I refuse to believe it’s true. Are you there? You don’t have to tell me what happened. I just want to know if you’re okay.

Akira’s thumb hesitates over the keyboard.

He really doesn’t want to think about it. He should leave it for tomorrow and try to sleep.

 **Akira:** I’m okay  
**Maruki:** Oh, thank god. Are you somewhere safe?  
**Akira:** Yeah I’m home  
**Maruki:** Good. I’m coming over.

Akira keeps staring at the phone like that’ll make his brain defog any faster.

Time moves like a thick syrup. Eventually, he hears the sound of the bell above the door downstairs.

He looks at the stairs. Standing up feels like it would take a lot of energy. Next to him, Morgana still slumbers.

Oh, he was supposed to lock the door, wasn’t he? He usually does that. Sojiro did it last night, but maybe Sojiro thinks Akira’s doing better.

Akira takes a deep breath, winces at the ache in his ribs, and stands up, forcing himself back into leader mode. Calm, collected, maybe a little tired but not in a way that’ll stop him from getting things done. Reliable, competent, capable of more than an hour of sleep a night.

“Kurusu-kun?” Maruki calls from downstairs. “The door was unlocked. Are you home?”

“Yeah, I’m up here,” Akira calls down, his voice perfectly calm and steady.

He hears footsteps, and a few moments later, sees Maruki walking up the stairs. Maruki pales slightly at the sight of him.

“You’re hurt,” Maruki says, reaching the top of the stairs. “What happened?”

“It’s not that bad,” Akira says. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Maruki shakes his head. “Forgive me, but you don’t look at all well,” he says. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, because it’s technically true. “The plan worked like we thought it would, so I’m just getting some rest before we get back to work.”

“Oh--I suppose it is a bit late, isn’t it,” Maruki says, his face turning sheepish. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Akira says. A low ache pulses in his ribs. The meds are wearing off. Should he take another one? He’ll be asleep soon, probably, so maybe not. But maybe he won’t be able to sleep until he does. 

Maruki glances around the room, dimly lit by the streetlamp outside and a bit of moonlight. “This is where you sleep?” he asks. “It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Akira shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

Maruki frowns. “Being used to something bad doesn’t make it something good,” he says. “Is your guardian treating you well?”

A faint pain pulses in his head like a heartbeat. “Yeah, Sojiro’s great, I like it here,” he says. “The room’s just a little old. It looks worse than it is, honestly.”

“If you say so,” Maruki says, looking unconvinced. “But if anything in your situation ever makes you uncomfortable, please let me know.”

“Sure.” Akira really should get some sleep; the room’s starting to look a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Kurusu-kun?” Maruki takes a step forward, looking concerned. “You look a little unfocused. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” He reaches out, puts a hand on Akira’s forehead. In the cool air of the attic, it’s warm against Akira’s skin. 

He frowns. “No fever, but it’s awfully cold in here,” he says. “Has your guardian not provided you with any heating?”

Akira gestures towards the other end of the attic. “There’s a heater over there, I turn it off when I’m in bed,” he says. He should probably feel a little offended that Maruki seems to not think well of Sojiro, but he’s so tired.

Maruki removes his hand. Akira almost misses it. “Perhaps you should get back to bed, then. I’m sorry to--oh--”

Akira blinks, and the room spins a little. Gravity’s not working right, or maybe he isn’t. He pitches forward, not that much, but enough.

Two arms catch him--one on his ribs, making him wince and hiss in pain. That arm jolts back, settles gingerly on his shoulder. The other settles on his back.

He looks up, the world still not quite in focus, to see Maruki’s worried face much closer than it was before.

Maruki gives a faint, nervous smile. “I think you may have underplayed your injuries,” he says. “Do your ribs hurt?”

Akira blinks a couple more times, until the world starts to go back to normal. “Kind of,” he says. “I’ve got meds, it’s fine.”

“Clearly it’s not fine, if you’re still hurting,” Maruki says. He helps Akira straighten up again, though his hands remain, one on Akira’s shoulder and one on his back. “Have you seen a doctor?”

Akira nods. “She said not to take too many of them,” he says vaguely.

Maruki purses his lips. “What medicine did she give you, exactly?”

“Uh.” Akira’s not sure he’s actually allowed to say. “She makes it herself. It’s safe, though.” Probably.

Maruki’s expression darkens. “You need to go to an actual hospital,” he says. “I’ll drive you.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, I just need to get some sleep,” he says, which is probably true. “The pills’ve been helping, honest. You caught me at a bad time.”

“I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m not sure your judgment is completely sound right now,” Maruki says, his face turning back into worry. “I may not be a medical doctor, but I can tell you’re not doing well.”

How can he convince Maruki he’s fine? “I can’t go to a hospital,” he says. “I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

Maruki just looks sad, now. “What are you caught up in?” he says softly. “Is it really worth it, if this is how you end up?”

Akira gives a firm nod. He’s certain of that much, at least. “Yes,” he says. “Our next mission is the most important one we’ve ever done. We can’t back out now.”

Maruki’s thumb rubs circles into Akira’s back. “You’re sure they can’t do it without you?” he whispers.

“I’m sure.” Akira feels strange, standing here in the dark, Maruki’s hands on him. There’s an odd pressure in the air. 

Maruki sighs. “I wish I could stop you,” he says. “But I see your mind’s made up.” He gives a crooked little smile. “And I suppose that side of you is part of why I like you so much.”

The hand on his shoulder shifts a little, moves across the low collar of his sleep shirt. Comes to rest on his cheek, cradling his face.

It feels like there’s no air in the room. Akira stares at Maruki, frozen, as something in his stomach twists uncomfortably. 

Maruki’s fingers are warm and soft, and his eyes are so gentle.

And then his eyes widen--and he quickly pulls back his hands, takes a step backwards. “I, ah, I should get going, let you get back to sleep,” he says hastily. “You need to heal up before your next mission. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

“Yeah,” Akira manages to say, through the strange discomfort and lingering fog.

“I’ll see you around,” Maruki says, walking a little quickly to the stairs. “Take care of yourself.”

Akira nods, and Maruki disappears into the darkness. Not long after, the bell above the door rings again.

Akira stays standing for a few more seconds, then walks back to bed. Sits down heavily, causing Morgana’s eyes to flicker open.

“Everything okay?” Morgana says.

“Yeah,” Akira says, because he’s not sure what else to say. “Maruki came by.”

“Maruki?” Morgana’s tail twitches. “What’d he want?”

Akira hesitates. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

He doesn’t end up getting much sleep that night.

\---

Akira looks up at the shimmering, translucent walls towering above Odaiba.

Most of the Palaces he’s seen are extravagant, unsettling places, crammed full of their ruler’s distorted wishes. Maruki’s Palace, what little he’s seen of it, is…peaceful. Serene. The milling cognitions were chatting about how happy they were. The bright white walls should have been harsh, but instead they exuded a deep sense of calm, of safety, of how anyone within them could find the happiness they deserve.

Or perhaps that’s just a side effect of the Palace, and he shouldn’t trust it.

He should be back at Leblanc right now, eating dinner and thinking about battle plans for making everyone see the truth about reality. But Wakaba might be there, and Morgana definitely would be, and…he doesn’t want to have to deal with that yet.

That’s what he tells himself, while he stares at Maruki’s Palace and wonders about how bad an idea it would be to go in by himself.

Akira’s not sure where Akechi is. His apartment, maybe? But Akira doesn’t know where that is, either. And besides, Akechi would probably tell him to go home and get ready for tomorrow. Or at least he thinks he would; he hasn’t quite pinned down this new, maybe realer Akechi’s behavior yet. ‘Unsentimental’ seems a safe bet, though.

His breath leaves a puff of fog in the air. It’s too cold to be standing around outside in the evening, at least. He should make up his mind about where to go. Leblanc, to see his friends stuck in a false happiness and get ready to try to force them out of it tomorrow, or…

He takes out his phone. The decision was made the moment he came here; he’s just been putting it off.

Joker’s clothes shimmer into being around him as he enters the Metaverse proper.

The Palace hasn’t changed any from this afternoon. Of course it hasn’t. That was barely two hours ago. He hops over the metal gate and walks through the courtyard, glancing around at the ever-present gigantic cameras looming overhead. Does Maruki see everything that happens here?

The elevator opens as readily as it did before. He walks into it a little hesitantly, wondering if the elevator goes anywhere besides the foyer of the building, but the foyer is where it sends him.

Past the massive, winding stairs, the milling cognitions chat happily among the chart-laden stands, a soothing background hum. There aren’t any Shadows around, and there’s no sign of Sumire, though he didn’t expect there would be.

Is she still in the auditorium? If he goes there, will he see her?

But he’s not really here for Sumire, is he.

Akira stands in the happy crowd, hands hanging loosely at his sides, waiting.

It doesn’t take long before the door at the back of the room opens.

Maruki walks out, wearing the same white outfit and slicked-back hair he did earlier. Less ostentatious than other Palace rulers, but still unnerving, in its way. He’s used to Maruki looking…well, harmless, basically. A friendly, floppy-haired guy with dorky glasses and sandals. This one might have the same face, but all the soft edges are gone.

Or they were, until Maruki brightens at the sight of him, waving with a wide grin. “Kurusu-kun!” he says as he walks towards him. “I was hoping I’d see you again soon, but I didn’t think it would be _this_ soon. What can I do for you?”

“How’s Sumire?” Akira asks, ignoring the slight twinge at the reminder of what his friend used to be like.

Maruki’s smile turns a little sad. “Yoshizawa-san is resting,” he says. “She’s not ready to talk to anyone yet. She should be fine by the ninth, though.”

The ninth. That’s a full week away. She needs to rest for that long?

“…okay,” Akira says, because it’s not like he can protest it. Maruki holds all the cards here. If he wants to keep Sumire in the Palace until the ninth, Akira can’t do anything to stop him.

Probably.

“That wasn’t all you wanted, was it?” Maruki says, looking disappointed. 

Akira hesitates. He’s not sure exactly _what_ to say, now that Sumire’s been covered.

“You know what, we should do this somewhere more comfortable,” Maruki says, looking back at the door. “I’ve got a lounge with some nice seating. Come, I’ll take you there. No need to worry about Shadows, of course. You’re always safe with me.”

Uncertain about the veracity of that last statement, Akira follows him.

Before they reach the door, however, a section of the wall shimmers, revealing another elevator, already open. Maruki waves him towards it, and Akira joins him inside.

It closes around them with a _ding._ Soft, tinny music plays. Akira spends the ride looking at the wall. He can’t tell where Maruki’s looking.

When they arrive, the elevator doors open onto another white room, this one with a more average ceiling height. Several couches, loveseats, and armchairs are arranged in a loose circle in the center.

Maruki gestures towards them. “Go ahead, take a seat,” he says.

Akira ends up on one side of a plush blue couch, soft to the touch. Maruki sits next to him, hands folded in his lap.

“So,” Maruki says, looking at him. “If you don’t need to know anything else about Yoshizawa-san, what do you want to talk about?”

The serenity the Palace exudes seems to be pushing a little harder here. Or maybe it’s just being around Maruki again; he always was a comforting presence, before…everything.

“You look different,” Akira blurts out, for lack of anything else to say.

Maruki gives a little laugh. “I suppose I do,” he says. “When I’m in the Metaverse, this is just how I appear. It’s a lot less flashy than what you’re wearing, but I think it matches the décor. Do you like it?”

“It’s not really your style,” Akira says. “You used to be…down-to-earth, I guess.”

Maruki examines his cuffs. “Perhaps an air of authority is what I needed, for my new role in the world,” he says.

“Can’t be a good supervillain without a snappy outfit,” Akira finds himself saying.

Maruki laughs again, louder this time. “Supervillain, really?” he says. “Is that what you think of me now? I’m only doing what’s best for the world. I’m hardly some cackling madman on a children’s show. You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” Akira says, looking down at the floor.

Maruki’s smile dims. He puts a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “You _do_ know me,” he says gently. “I’m the same as I ever was, I only have the ability to act on my goals now. I know my ultimatum might seem harsh, but once you see what this world is really like, you’ll understand why I have to do this.”

Akira looks back up at him. “I understand that you think you’re doing the right thing,” Akira says. “But what makes someone happy isn’t necessarily what’s best for them. Sometimes a person getting what they want will only end up hurting them.”

Maruki squeezes Akira’s shoulder. “Well,” he says, smiling. “Sometimes it’s okay to get what you want. Sometimes what you want is what you need, too.”

The Palace is at a pleasant room temperature, but somehow the air feels a little colder now.

“I owe you an apology, Kurusu-kun,” Maruki says. “I’ve been relying on you too much this past year. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for all the help you’ve given me, but it wasn’t your job to do that. I should’ve been a more responsible teacher for you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t. I only hope I can make it up to you.”

Maruki’s other hand moves to rest on top of Akira’s.

Akira looks down at it with a tiny jolt. He’s still wearing his gloves, and so is Maruki, so he doesn’t feel much besides pressure, but the pressure feels much greater than it should. His heart starts to beat just a little faster, something starts to twist in his stomach.

“I want you to know you can rely on me for anything,” Maruki continues, looking into Akira’s eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and now it’s my turn to help you with whatever you need.”

Maruki’s hand shifts over, his fingers curling underneath and around Akira’s, raising Akira’s hand up. He leans down slightly, and briefly presses a kiss to Akira’s knuckles.

Akira can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t speak. But even if he could, he doesn’t know how he should react. His heart beats faster and faster.

“You’re very special to me, Kurusu-kun,” Maruki murmurs. His thumb brushes across the back of Akira’s hand. “In this world, I can finally show you how much.”

The hand on Akira’s shoulder rises to gently pull off his mask, lay it down on the couch. Like he did just over a month ago, Maruki cups Akira’s bare face in his hand.

Something in Akira’s chest clenches, but he can’t tell whether or not it’s a pleasant feeling.

Maruki leans in, and closes his eyes, and presses a kiss to Akira’s lips.

A thousand sensations flit through him; Maruki’s hand on his, Maruki’s knee bumping against him, the rims of Maruki’s glasses lightly pressing against his face, the distant hum of cognitions, air that feels both freezing and stifling at once, Maruki’s tongue pressing against the seam of his lips. Akira parts them almost involuntarily, and Maruki’s tongue slides inside, delicately traces the inside of his mouth.

Akira always thought he would enjoy his first kiss, but this--he just feels strange. It’s gentle, sweet, not at all forceful; he knows Maruki would never hurt him. And it does feel--not unpleasant. Nice, even. But mixed in with the hesitant enjoyment is an undercurrent of unease. 

Eventually, Maruki pulls back, brushing one last tiny kiss against Akira’s mouth. He looks utterly at peace, smiling, content.

With a shimmer of blue flame, the Joker outfit fades away from Akira’s body.

He’s left in the clothes he wore outside. With the gloves gone, he can feel Maruki’s hand gently stroking his.

“What better sign is there of how much I trust you?” Maruki says with a smile.

Instincts war in Akira’s mind; he picks the first one. “I should go,” he says, a little hoarsely. “I need to get ready for tomorrow.”

Maruki nods. “Of course,” he says. “You’re welcome back here any time. I’m always happy to see you.”

Maruki strokes Akira’s hand one last time, and releases it. Akira pulls it back and stands up. 

He walks back to the elevator. For a few seconds, it doesn’t open; he glances back at Maruki, who waves, and then it does. Akira steps inside immediately.

The tinny music feels deafening.

For a second, he wonders-- _will this take me back to the entrance, will it go somewhere else instead--_ but the door opens back to the foyer, and he goes down the stairs in a hurry, the cognitions parting around him with no apparent annoyance.

When he’s finally outside again, he pulls out his phone and quickly taps open the Nav.

_“Now returning to the real world. Thank you for your work.”_

Akira exhales deeply when the scenery turns back into Odaiba.

He pockets his phone. He needs to get to the station.

When he returns to Leblanc, Wakaba and Futaba aren’t there. But Sojiro is, waving at him when he comes in, and Morgana, sitting at the counter with the meager remains of a plate of curry.

“Welcome home,” Morgana says, smiling with a friendly, human face. “There’s still some curry left for you.”

Akira swallows. “I’m not hungry,” he says, and heads upstairs.

He sits down on his bed, hands hanging between his knees. He breathes in, out. 

Remembers the warmth of Maruki’s mouth on his, the softness of his gloved hands.

Maruki’s always been kind to him. Even with the world the way it is, he can’t bring himself to _dislike_ Maruki, not when Maruki’s intentions are so noble. Was this always how their relationship would have gone? He remembers a cold night in late November, a strange, uneasy moment Maruki pulled away from. Was Maruki thinking about this even then?

Ryuji’s spoken of rotten adults over and over. Akira’s spent the last nine months facing against them. Ann--

But all those adults only ever wanted to hurt people. Maruki wants to _help._ Maruki didn’t threaten him or force him to stay, he let Akira leave. 

If Akira hadn’t left--

Akira wishes, so deeply, that there was someone he could talk to.

Akechi? Akechi might tell him to solve his own problems and stop bothering him. If any of his other friends were in their right minds, then…

They’re not. They won’t be until he fixes this.

He just has to do the _observation_ Maruki wants, and confront Maruki with Akechi, and rescue Sumire, and everything will work out somehow, the way it always does. 

But Maruki was so insistent that Akira would see things his way.

…Akira should get to sleep. It’ll be easier to think tomorrow, when he’s not fresh off…that.

He undresses, gets in his bed, doesn’t think about how Morgana isn’t joining him, and manages to fall asleep surprisingly quickly, all things considered. Maybe he’s tired.

But in his dreams, there are gloved hands and a warm mouth.

And what’s worse--in his dreams, he doesn’t mind them at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mild suicidal ideation.

It’s strange, walking around the city without Morgana.

Akira’s used to the running commentary, the extra weight in his bag, paws propping up on his shoulder and whiskers tickling his ear. Without it, the world seems much quieter. 

With no school, wandering the city is all he has to do, and so he does, observing the false reality, just as Maruki asked.

People in the street talk about their good fortune, how much they love their new job, or have found a better appreciation for their current one; how they’re looking forward to going back to school because they know they’ll do better this year; how wonderful their girlfriend is, how great their kids are, how they’ve never been happier, happier, happier.

If Morgana was here, he’d say something like _“I know it seems like this is a good thing…but it’s not right, Akira! We have to take care of this, or the whole world will be in danger!”_

But Morgana isn’t here, and Akira’s faced with only his own thoughts.

He ends up in Akihabara.

Futaba seems delighted to be spending time with her mother and Sojiro. This Wakaba seems like a kind, caring mother, smart and quick-witted but not cruel or distant, the mother Futaba always described with stars in her eyes. And Sojiro, too, seems happy to be a part of the odd little family, not quite a father, but important nonetheless.

By all accounts, Wakaba was a good person on the verge of great things. The world would be a demonstrably better place with her in it. Futaba and Sojiro aren’t the only people who would benefit from her existence. But Futaba and Sojiro are the ones Akira knows personally, and Futaba and Sojiro…they look like they’re having the best day of their lives.

They’re friendly, when they see him, and then they leave to spend their evening together. Akira’s left alone, the crowds around him proclaiming one-of-a-kind deals and a newly-uncovered stock of figurines once thought to be out of production.

He checks his phone. It’s about the time the group chat would be buzzing with everyone’s opinions about whatever going’s on. But right now it’s silent, everyone still busy with the joys this life is giving them.

There’s not really anything else for him to do today. He could go home, avoid talking to Morgana, and…what? Watch a movie by himself? Study alone? Stare at the walls until he falls asleep?

Or.

There is one person who wants to talk to him, isn’t there.

Akira’s stomach clenches at the thought. The memory of last night sits in the back of his head, always waiting for him to examine it again. He still hasn’t managed to come to a conclusion he’s satisfied with.

But god, Akira’s always been bad at being alone. And this past year he was _never_ alone, always Morgana and texts and outings and Palaces filling up every waking hour. Being completely by himself makes his mind itch. And the idea of doing that for an entire _week…_

He used to enjoy spending time with Maruki. It was relaxing, fun, sometimes educational; he’d always looked forward to it. One of _those_ times would be great right now. 

But Maruki’s the _reason_ Akira doesn’t have anyone else to talk to today--

He ruffles his hair with both hands in frustration, trying to sort out his thoughts. Pros and cons, good reasons and bad reasons; ultimately, what it boils down to is if being alone right now is better or worse than being with Maruki. 

And before he knows it, he’s on the subway to Odaiba.

The Palace still looms overhead. Even after he reenters the Metaverse, his clothes are still the same. So that hasn’t changed, either. Maruki still doesn’t see him as a threat.

The elevator ride is only a few seconds, but it feels like it goes on for hours.

Akira taps his fingers against the side of his jeans, an old nervous tic he thought he grew out of. The aura of serenity bears down on him, not roughly, just enough to make him aware that it’s there, and that if he wanted to, he could let it in.

When he arrives in the foyer, the door swings open almost immediately.

Maruki is already all smiles as he meets Akira halfway up the stairs. “I hoped you’d be back tonight,” he says. “I still have a lot of work to do here, but I’d love to take a break to spend time with you.”

Akira swallows the lump in his throat. “The work of brainwashing Japan?” he says.

Maruki sighs. “It seems you still haven’t completely accepted my viewpoint,” he says. “But it’s only been a day, after all. There’s almost a full week left for you to come around.”

The other elevator opens above them. “Come on,” Maruki says, gesturing towards it. “The sitting room’s a much nicer place to talk than out here.”

Akira follows him mutely.

The elevator door closes behind them.

The lounge looks a little different; where before there were only places to sit, now the walls are dotted with abstract sculptures, sconces emitting warm light, a few glossy, verdant potted plants. “I thought I’d decorate the place a bit,” Maruki says. “It was too impersonal before. You like things a little cluttered, don’t you? Like that attic of yours.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Though this place is certainly more comfortable than that.”

It _is_ nicer than the Spartan look it had before, even if disparaging Leblanc wasn’t necessary. And it’s thoughtful of Maruki to think about that.

Maruki sits down on a couch, pats the seat next to him. Akira feels awkward as he sits down.

“Go ahead and take off the coat, you don’t need it here,” Maruki says, and after a moment, Akira does, draping it over the armrest.

Maruki reaches over and plucks off Akira’s glasses, folds them and tosses them towards the coat too. “And you don’t need to hide anything from me, either,” he says, smiling.

It feels like Akira’s half-naked, and he tenses. He wears the glasses for a reason.

Maruki laces their fingers together. “You don’t need to be so nervous,” he says. “It’s just me.”

_That’s what I’m nervous about,_ Akira doesn’t say.

Maruki rubs a thumb over the back of Akira’s hand. “Was there a conversation topic you had in mind?” he says. “I could tell you about my day, if you like.”

Akira didn’t have one in mind. He nods.

“Well, then.” Maruki smiles. “Today I spent some time in the minds of a family in Asakusa. The husband was prone to drink, and his wife a compulsive gambler; their teenage daughter was convinced she’d end up the same as them, and frequently considered ending her life. Now, the husband and wife are loving parents, and with all the money they’ve saved, they’re planning on taking a family vacation. The daughter is studying for her entrance exams. I believe she’ll do well at them.”

Something ticks in Akira’s mind. “Do you know what caused the parents’ problems?” he asks.

“The husband hated his job and the wife was bitter she didn’t have the ideal family life she’d always dreamed of,” Maruki says. “Very common, I’m afraid. And a new job for the husband was the key to fixing it all.”

There’s something in there that Akira can almost examine. A flaw in Maruki’s theory. But he can’t quite see it. 

Makoto might be able to. Or Akechi. Or maybe it’s a big-picture thing that Ryuji would notice first; probably any of his friends would figure it out before he did, since their minds wouldn’t be clogged with the feeling of Maruki’s fingers embracing theirs.

Maruki’s grip isn’t especially firm, but it feels heavy nonetheless. Akira tries not to shift in his seat. Maruki would notice any obvious discomfort, right?

Maruki notices it anyway. “Is there something I can do to help you relax?” he says gently. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”

He squeezes Akira’s hand. It doesn’t help.

Akira takes a deep breath. “Do you have to touch me so much?” he asks.

Maruki’s eyes soften even more. “Do you not like it?” he says.

“…I don’t know,” Akira says. “I just…remember how we used to talk, when you still worked at Shujin? Can we go back to that?”

“I’m afraid those days are over,” Maruki says, a tone of melancholy in his voice. “They were lovely, of course, but time moves on, and so much has changed since then. The conversations we used to have aren’t possible anymore. Which isn’t a sad thing, really--it’s just part of life. I’d rather focus on the world we have now than the one we used to. It might be different, but…” He smiles. “I think it’s a better one.”

He rubs a circle into the back of Akira’s hand with his thumb. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything here,” he whispers. “The social rules that kept us apart don’t apply anymore. You can have whatever you want. It’s okay.”

_Is_ this what he wants? It’s not something he thought about before yesterday, barring the incident in the attic. Maruki never even occurred to him as an option. But now that Maruki’s brought the subject into stark view, it keeps drifting into Akira’s mind. 

“…I need to think about it some more,” Akira says finally, because that seems like a safe answer. And maybe if he does think about it more, he’ll find the right conclusion after all.

“Why don’t we talk about it?” Maruki says. “That way you’ll have more information to work with.”

Akira swallows. He has a point, maybe. This involves Maruki too. He shouldn’t try to make an argument if he doesn’t know what he’s working with.

“Sure,” Akira says, though his stomach clenches.

Maruki smiles. “I don’t mean to harm you,” he says gently. “Just as I’m doing what’s best for the world, I want to do what’s best for you. Your friends love you, but your relationships with them are a little, what’s the word…transactional? You make deals that benefit the both of you. You even did that with me, initially. Such relationships have their value, and I don’t mean to diminish how important they are to you, but it must be tiring to view the world like that. You deserve to have something in your life that doesn’t ask anything of you.”

Akira’s never really thought of it that way. He always kind of assumed the deals were excuses; the other Phantom Thieves always seemed to enjoy his company even when he wasn’t directly doing anything for them. But he very rarely spent time with anyone just to have fun, did he? Everyone always wants something, even if it’s something small and the outing still continues after they’ve gotten it.

Well. Maybe not Akechi. But even he’d wanted something, really, even if Akira still doesn’t entirely know what it was.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Maruki says. “I just like having you around. Even if you weren’t up for anything more, I’d still enjoy your company. I like _you,_ not whatever mask you’ve put on to match what someone wants. The only thing I want from you is for you to be happy. Does that sound okay?”

It doesn’t sound _bad._ It sounds a little bit like what Akira hoped some person in the future would say to him eventually. But is it okay that the person saying it is Maruki?

Maruki’s waiting for an answer, he realizes.

“…I guess,” he says, awkwardly, because that’s basically where his thoughts were leaning, though he hadn’t really decided yet.

Maruki smiles. “There you have it,” he says. “There’s nothing to think about. I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

Unease swirls in Akira’s stomach. There’s more to think about, isn’t there? 

“Let me prove it to you,” Maruki murmurs, and takes hold of Akira’s face with his other hand, and kisses him again.

It’s still soft. Still warm. Akira closes his eyes and tries to focus on that. Maruki’s tongue in his mouth is gentle, exploratory. It doesn’t feel bad at all.

The hand that was holding Akira’s slips out, moves around Akira’s back and shoulders instead and curls onto his upper arm. It’s kind of an awkward angle. 

Maruki kisses him for a while longer, slow and soft, before the hand that was on Akira’s face lets go and moves down, skimming across Akira’s chest and stomach until it comes to rest on his groin.

Akira’s eyes fly open. He pulls his head back.

Maruki just smiles again. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he says. “I want to make you feel good.”

Akira doesn’t know what to say to that. Maruki’s fingers undo his fly, slip beneath his waistband.

Akira clenches his fingers into his jeans, out of the way of Maruki’s hand. His heart starts a staccato rhythm in his chest.

Maruki pulls out Akira’s cock. Still soft, but Maruki’s gloved fingers on it are already making it react, the gentle touch enough to spur on teenage hormones.

Akira closes his eyes again. He can’t look.

Maruki’s hand moves deftly along Akira’s cock, long, smooth strokes that rapidly harden it. Akira finds himself making little breathy sounds, unbidden. Maruki’s other hand rubs comfortingly onto Akira’s upper arm.

A thumb circles the head of Akira’s cock, pressing down slightly. A soft cry falls from Akira’s lips.

“Did you like that?” Maruki murmurs.

“Yeah,” Akira manages to say, though talking during this is almost unbearable.

Even though his eyes are closed, he can see Maruki’s smile. “That’s good,” Maruki says, and does it again.

Maruki’s hand keeps moving, up and down, firm caresses that send tiny waves of pleasure through Akira’s body. The breathy sounds keep coming, a little louder, a little rougher. His fingers dig harder into his jeans.

Akira realizes his shoulders are trembling.

Maruki rubs his arm again. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to Akira’s temple.

Not long after, Akira shudders, and a louder cry slips from him. His cock pulses, a jet of come spattering onto Maruki’s hand.

Akira slowly opens his eyes. He sees the ruined glove, still thumbing a drop of come off his cock.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Maruki lets out a small laugh. “There’s no need to apologize,” he says. “I’ve got plenty.” He takes his arm off Akira’s shoulders and from somewhere produces a small cloth, wipes the fluid off himself, though it must still be damp.

Akira glances down at Maruki’s lap, faintly realizing that reciprocation is a thing.

Maruki sees where he’s looking. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “This was about you, not me.”

Akira’s torn between protesting, because that doesn’t really seem fair, and being relieved, because the idea of this going on for any longer feels strangely uncomfortable. He adjusts himself back into his pants.

“I hope that helped show you that all I want is for you to enjoy yourself,” Maruki says. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re only here for my sake. Do you feel better now?”

Akira genuinely doesn’t know.

“Well,” Maruki says, when Akira doesn’t respond, “that’s better than feeling worse, at least.”

He presses another kiss to Akira’s forehead. “You’re tired, you should go home,” he says. “Get some rest. You can see more of the world tomorrow, and if you’re free in the evening…” He smiles. “I’d love to see you again.”

Akira picks up his coat and glasses and stands up. He does feel tired, incredibly so. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Maruki says, standing up too, and leads him to the elevator.

Maruki says goodbye at the exit, and kisses him again, and then Akira’s left alone outside a construction site in Odaiba, staring up at the shimmering image of a rainbow tower.

When he gets back to the attic, Morgana is lying on the couch, smiling as he enters. “Hey, Akira,” Morgana says. “Did you have a good day?”

Akira hesitates. “I think so,” he says.

But he really isn’t sure.

\---

As he walks through Shibuya, he wonders if that counted as losing his virginity.

Does a handjob usually count? It’s not like there’s a rulebook. Maybe it’s more a psychological thing, and the specific act doesn’t matter so much as the related feelings--

God, that kind of sounds like something Akechi would say, doesn’t it.

But anyway, Akira definitely _feels…_ different. He can’t tell quite in what way, exactly. He used to think that getting firsthand experience with sex would make him feel more like an adult, but if anything, it kind of makes him feel like a kid. Struggling to deal with something they don’t understand. So he walks through Shibuya, and he wonders if this is just how everyone feels after their first time. Maybe it’s one of the big secrets of society, that no one knows what to think about sex.

It’s not a topic he’s really enjoying thinking about, so he’s glad when he runs into Haru.

Haru, who looks so happy with her father, a kind, benevolent businessman doing his part to make a better Tokyo. It’s not dissimilar from Wakaba, in how this version of Okumura being alive would be a benefit to many people, not just his daughter.

Just like with Futaba, it almost feels like Akira’s intruding in the bubble of happiness made for Haru and her father. 

Just like with Futaba, Haru seems blissful in this new world.

He shouldn’t interrupt her day any more than he already has. He checks his texts--nothing, still. Everyone’s still involved in whatever they’re involved in. He heads home.

Or he starts to head home. But what’s waiting for him there? He knows where he _wants_ to go, or at least sort of wants, maybe. 

Akira’s not sure if it’s a teenager thing or something everyone deals with, but the idea of being desired is…almost intoxicating. Someone finds him appealing not just in a general attraction way, but is specifically interested in having sex with him, has already _had_ sex with him and seemed open to doing it again. Akira’s not used to thinking of his sexuality as a thing someone else is involved in. 

Did Maruki think about it before yesterday? Having sex with Akira, that is. Was it something he thought about a lot? What did he think about specifically?

Is Maruki thinking about it now?

A strange mix of anticipation and unease follows Akira all the way to Odaiba.

Maruki welcomes him back with a smile and an embrace, pulling Akira into his arms and holding him close. “It’s good to see you again,” Maruki says, one hand rubbing gentle circles against Akira’s upper back. “I suppose I didn’t have any reason to think you _wouldn’t_ come back tonight, but I did wonder.”

“My calendar’s pretty free,” Akira says. He can smell the faint, oily scent of whatever’s slicking Maruki’s hair back. It smells kind of nice.

Maruki laughs, and Akira feels the vibration against him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here regardless,” he says. He pulls back, and rests his hand on Akira’s lower back as he leads him to the lounge.

The décor of the lounge has changed again. The lighting has turned warm, and the walls are a dark brown color, a vast contrast from the bright white that filled every corner. The couches are a little more worn, a little less like they just came out of a fancy catalogue.

Maruki leads Akira to a slightly faded black couch, and they sit down together. After a moment, Akira removes his coat and glasses, like last time. Maruki smiles.

“You remembered,” he says.

Akira nods. Not wearing glasses doesn’t feel as unfamiliar now, anyway.

“Of course you did. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Maruki says, and in a moment of surprising strength, pulls Akira onto his lap.

Akira jolts, but just for a moment. His legs lie a little awkwardly along the other half of the couch, and his hips are lined on top of Maruki’s upper thigh. The suggestive position makes his stomach curl.

Maruki rests a hand on Akira’s lower back, the other on his knee. “How was your day?” he asks.

Akira pulls together his composure. “It was fine,” he says. “I saw Haru.”

Maruki lightly rubs a circle against Akira’s lower back and nods. “And she’s doing well, of course,” he says.

“Yeah,” Akira says. He hesitates. “I mean, I don’t know how she’d feel about it if she had a choice,” he says.

“People don’t always make the right choices for themselves,” Maruki says. “Sometimes it’s better for someone with a more objective eye to make the harder decisions.”

Akira tries not to get too distracted by the light, caressing touch on his back. “Maybe that’s true, but I think it’d be better if they at least got to choose who the someone was,” he says.

“And if that isn’t the right choice either?” Maruki says with a wry smile.

“Just because it’s not the right choice from _your_ perspective doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one,” Akira says. He’s thought about that much, at least.

Maruki sighs. “You’ll come around eventually,” he says. “You’ve still only seen this reality for a couple days. I know once you get enough evidence, you’ll make the right decision.”

Akira kind of wants to change the subject. They won’t get anywhere repeating the same arguments. “Did you do anything today that wasn’t, uh, job-related?” he asks.

The corner of Maruki’s mouth twitches. “Are you asking if I have hobbies?”

“…maybe?”

“Well, my primary hobby is you,” Maruki says, rubbing his thumb around Akira’s knee. A tiny, shivery spark lights in Akira’s stomach. “But beyond that, I was already a fan of people-watching, and now I can do it without worrying they’ll notice me.”

“That still seems like part of your job,” Akira points out.

“Even I can turn my brain off and relax,” Maruki says wryly. “It’s nice to see people simply existing. I don’t know everyone yet, so I can just watch and try to guess what they’re like. I make it a policy not to cheat.”

Which is sort of charming, but did he have to throw in the ‘yet’?

“But that’s really just a thing I do to pass the time while I’m waiting for something to finish,” Maruki continues. “I’d much rather spend my free time with you.”

He smiles, and Akira’s stomach squirms. Desire, again. The knowledge that sex is an option. The awareness that Maruki’s barely stopped touching him since he arrived. Akira’s never felt so much like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, warned that the fall will hurt but wondering if it won’t.

“Speaking of,” Maruki says lightly, and takes hold of Akira’s hips, pulls them around so Akira’s back is against his chest.

Akira’s breath catches in his throat. Maruki tucks his chin over Akira’s shoulder, rests his arms around Akira’s waist. “You look like you need to relax, too,” Maruki whispers into Akira’s ear.

Akira’s heart rate rises. He didn’t expect anything this quickly. 

“I’ll handle it, don’t worry,” Maruki murmurs, and one of his hands moves to Akira’s waistband.

Maruki strokes him as smoothly and firmly as last time, alternating between murmured words of praise and soft kisses on his neck. Akira doesn’t feel relaxed at all; electricity pulses through his body, his mind shudders. The little breathy sounds fall freely from his mouth. Maruki’s arm around his waist keeps him firmly in place, Maruki’s chest a solid weight against his back.

Eventually, Akira realizes he can feel the beginnings of an erection beneath him, pressing up against his ass. A flurry of images break into his head; he squashes all of them, and tries not to move too much.

He comes with a shiver into Maruki’s hand. Maruki mouths at his neck, holds him tighter in a sort of embrace. “Perfect,” Maruki murmurs.

The electricity drains, and Akira feels like a puppet with its strings cut. He slumps in Maruki’s arms with an exhale.

“I wish I could keep holding you like this forever,” Maruki says softly. “But we both have things we need to do.”

Still, he doesn’t shift Akira off his lap for almost another minute, still softly kissing his neck and caressing his waist.

“I hope that helped you calm down a little,” Maruki says, after Akira’s put his clothes back together and is standing off the couch, Maruki’s arm lightly touching his lower back again.

Akira hesitates. Did it? He’s not sure he was that nervous to begin with, really. But feeling drained is similar to feeling relaxed, he’s pretty sure.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” Maruki says, and kisses him deeply, makes Akira wonder for a moment if Maruki’s going to keep dragging this out for hours, find an excuse to keep his hands on Akira for as long as possible. But Maruki lets him go eventually.

Akira feels twisty inside as he leaves the Metaverse. They didn’t talk very much tonight. Was Maruki disinterested in what he had to say, or just eager to touch him? 

In the cold winter air, Akira shivers inside and out.

\---

Why aren’t the others talking to him?

Well, that’s not fair. When he sees them in person, they’re friendly and treat him like they usually would. But Akira’s so used to a barrage of texts every day, and it’s been complete radio silence. Morgana initiates conversation sometimes, but more often than not trails off into fantasizing about Ann, which Akira isn’t really interested in enabling. Akira used to spend morning to night with _someone_ always there, Morgana or the person he’s hanging out with, and now…

Today, he sees Makoto. She’s very happy, just like everyone else. And she leaves to spend time with her sister, who is also very happy. And Akira is left alone in the train station.

He checks his phone. Still nothing.

He spends some time leaning against a wall, staring listlessly at the beaming crowds, and pulls out his phone again.

**Akira:** Are you busy right now?  
**Akechi:** Yes. Why? Have you learned something useful?

Akira runs through a few possible responses in his head.

_No, I’m just bored. Sorry to bother you._

_No, but I need to talk to someone and you’re the only person I know who isn’t brainwashed or doing the brainwashing._

_I’ve learned that I like older men, but that’s not useful, sorry._

_I’ve learned that I don’t know who I am when I’m alone and that’s terrifying, wanna hang out?_

**Akira:** No. Sorry  
**Akechi:** You’re not in the habit of idle texts. What do you want?  
**Akira:** We used to hang out a lot. I kind of miss that  
**Akechi:** Are you asking me to hang out with you right now?  
**Akira:** You said you were busy so no  
**Akechi:** Then stop wasting my time and get back to work.

Which is about what Akira expected.

He takes a deep breath and puts his phone back in his pocket. There’s still some time left in the day. He could keep wandering around the city, be a silent passerby in a world that barely seems to notice him, or…

He could visit the one person who does have time for him.

It’s a little earlier than usual. Maybe Maruki’ll be busy. But Akira’s kind of been getting the impression Maruki drops everything the moment he shows up, so maybe it’ll be fine?

He heads to Odaiba, unsure if he’s making the right decision.

Maruki greets him in the foyer the same as always, though. “You’re here early!” he says, smiling, after he takes Akira’s hand and laces their fingers together. “Seen enough of the world today?”

Akira shifts on his feet. “I talked to Makoto and then I didn’t really have anything else to do, so…” He trails off. “Are you busy?”

Maruki shakes his head. “I was just finishing some things up, actually,” he says. “I’m glad you came by earlier than usual. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Akira gives a faint smile. “It seems like right now you’re the only one who does,” he says.

As they get in the elevator, Maruki frowns. “Your friends are ignoring you?” he asks.

“Sort of,” Akira hedges, as the elevator moves, and explains what’s been happening.

The elevator having arrived by the time he finishes, they’re back on one of the couches, Akira’s coat and glasses already off. “I’m sure they’re not doing it on purpose,” Maruki says. “Once you accept this reality, they’ll be available again.” He smiles. “Though for now, I can’t say I mind the idea of having you all to myself.”

Akira’s stomach twists. Maruki’s got one arm around Akira’s shoulders, lightly stroking his upper arm, and the gesture was comforting at first but the words have an odd tinge to them that makes it disquieting now. 

“How long have you been thinking about me like this?” Akira finds himself asking, the words coming out without his control, the tone a little warier than he likes.

Maruki’s eyebrows raise in apparent surprise. “What brought this on?” he asks.

“Just curious,” Akira says. But at the same time, he realizes that he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Well.” Maruki looks up in thought. “It wasn’t immediate,” he says. “I suppose I didn’t consciously realize it until the last couple months I worked at Shujin.” He looks back at Akira, smiles. “I already knew how extraordinary you were, I just hadn’t put together the pieces yet of the extent of my appreciation for you. And of course I couldn’t do anything about it back then, but, well, everything’s different now.” He leans in, brushes his lips against Akira’s. Pulls back, brushing his thumb over the lips he just kissed.

“I know I’ve told you how remarkable your mind is, but I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are,” Maruki murmurs. “Your eyes in particular, but really, all of you. I could watch you for hours and never grow bored. Your long legs, your soft skin, the quiet intensity in your gaze…no one else could ever compare.”

Akira doesn’t blush much, if ever. But the new praise makes his face heat just slightly.

Maruki raises an eyebrow. “Has no one told you that before?” he says.

“Not…really,” Akira says, remembering the only confession letter he ever received, an awkward affair in first year where the girl went on about how pretty his eyes were to a frankly unsettling degree. He’d never spoken to her before or since.

“Well, then I’m proud to be the first,” Maruki says softly, kissing Akira once more, trailing kisses down to Akira’s neck.

Akira’s toes curl. He wonders if Maruki is going to pull him onto his lap again, or if he’ll just stop here. He can’t tell which option he’d prefer.

But instead, Maruki pulls back and says, smiling, “I wanted to try something else today, actually. Follow me.”

He gets off the couch, takes Akira’s hand as he leads him to a bare space of wall. Curious and a little uneasy, Akira watches the wall shimmer and reform as a plain, wooden door.

Maruki opens it, leading Akira inside. The room itself has similar colors and lighting as the lounge, but the only furniture in it is a large, fluffy-looking bed.

Akira’s stomach turns over on itself.

As his heart rate rises, Maruki smiles and says, “I think you’ll like it. Just sit down over there, take your shirt off, and hold your arms out.” He gestures towards the bed.

Akira holds back the torrent of images in his head. It’s only been a few days, Maruki wouldn’t--but he does as Maruki says anyway, his mind swirling.

Maruki stays standing. That’s something, maybe. But that just adds a shade of confusion.

His arms held out in front of him, Akira waits. Should he be doing something else? Is Maruki going to do something?

A sort of slithery noise appears above him, and he looks up to see one of the long, gray tentacles descending from the ceiling.

Instinctively, Akira jerks away, remembering Sumire--but it wraps around his wrists before he can get very far, raises his arms above his head. 

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Maruki asks.

Ignoring the pounding in his heart, Akira says, “No.” 

Maruki smiles. “That’s good,” he says. “Don’t look so nervous. I told you, you’ll enjoy this.”

That doesn’t make Akira any less nervous. His throat works as the tentacle slides backwards, pulling him along with it until he’s on the center of the bed, his arms almost bumping the wall behind it.

Maruki sits down next to him. “They weren’t originally intended for this, but once the thought occurred to me, I couldn’t get it out of my head,” he says, a little sheepishly.

Akira doesn’t know what to say. His heart keeps beating faster and faster. The setup’s gone from suspicious to practically confirmed, and he doesn’t know how he should be reacting. Excited? But the twisting in his stomach doesn’t feel like that. Afraid? But there’s no _reason_ to be afraid. It’s more or less a logical progression from what they’ve already been doing; it was bound to happen _eventually._

He just maybe thought Maruki would ask first.

Another slithery sound, and Akira looks down to see a pair of tentacles removing his shoes. The faint absurdity of it almost makes him want to laugh, if he wasn’t vaguely nauseous.

The tentacles finish with his shoes and socks, then slither up to pull his pants off him, and then he’s completely naked. Maruki’s already seen some of it, but the idea of being fully exposed in front of him feels different. Akira swallows uncomfortably.

Maruki’s still fully dressed. _Hurry it up,_ Akira thinks, and then feels guilty for thinking it.

“I admit I haven’t had the opportunity to test it yet,” Maruki says. “But there’s plenty of time to practice, so I’m not worried.”

Which doesn’t quite sound right, until the two tentacles wrap around his knees, forcing his legs open, and another one rises between them.

Akira stiffens. He jerks his head to the side to look at Maruki, who _laughs,_ reaches over to stroke Akira’s hair. “Relax,” Maruki says gently. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

The fourth tentacle is thinner than the others, and slick with something. It glides between his legs, up to his groin.

Akira’s entire body is tense as a wire. He tells himself that it’s not that different, really, from what he assumed would happen; it’s probably even still technically part of Maruki. But it _feels_ different, somehow. His stomach squirms inside him, and the nerves ramp up to the point where he has to try to keep his breathing under control.

Maruki leans over him, caresses the side of his face. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

The tentacle prods at his entrance.

Akira squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to hyperventilate.

The slickness makes it easier; the tentacle slides its tip inside him and coils, stretching the muscles around it. The intrusion feels uncomfortable anyway, and Akira shifts on the bed a little, his bonds preventing him from much more than that. Maruki keeps stroking his hair.

As the tentacle pushes farther inside him, it brushes against something that sends a spark of pleasure through him, making Akira let out an involuntary gasp. Maruki gives a soft laugh, and the tentacle slows its progress for a while to massage against it, little waves of pleasure flowing through him. Akira feels himself starting to grow hard.

“See?” Maruki murmurs. “I knew you’d like it.” And a gloved hand takes hold of Akira’s cock, strokes it gently into full hardness.

The tentacle coils more and more inside him, stretching him open gradually. Akira’s breathing slips into moans as it fills him up. Maruki strokes his cock slowly, almost too much so.

As the pleasure starts to build, Akira’s discomfort reaches a plateau and starts to settle into a sort of resignation, a helpless state where he can’t do anything so there’s no point thinking about it. His chest rises and falls with heavy, uncontrollable breaths.

“Beautiful,” Maruki murmurs. “Worthy of a painting, if I’d ever let anyone else see you like this.”

The tentacle’s thrusts start to grow harder. Akira can’t tell how far it is inside him, but he feels achingly full. His legs tremble in their bonds, he can’t help writhing, he can’t stop the moans and keening falling from his lips. The pleasure finally reaches a crest; he cries out as he comes into Maruki’s hand.

Maruki’s hands withdraw, and for a moment Akira thinks it’s over, but the tentacle is still thrusting inside him. Akira manages to open his eyes. Maruki’s putting on a new glove, and looks over at him, smiles.

Maruki sits back down on the bed, brushes some of Akira’s sweaty hair out of his eyes. “I think you can go another round,” he says.

Akira just stares for a moment, then his breath hitches as the tentacle starts to massage that spot again. He closes his eyes tight once more, whimpers as Maruki’s hand returns to his cock.

He can’t tell which is greater: the pleasure, or the nausea.

It’s evening by the time Maruki finishes.

Akira’s curled up on Maruki’s lap, Maruki’s arms around him, one hand stroking his hair and the other caressing his back. “You did so well,” Maruki murmurs. “I knew you would. You’re amazing, Kurusu-kun. I could never have asked for anyone better than you.”

Akira doesn’t feel entirely in his body. The world seems very distant; all there is is Maruki’s voice and Maruki’s arms, holding onto him, keeping him settled. He leans into the praise like a flower towards the sun, soaking in as much of it as he can. It feels like if Maruki stops talking, the emptiness in his head will take over and he’ll fade away into nothing.

The specific words don’t seem to matter. He just needs that quiet, warm reassurance. 

It takes a while before Akira resurfaces. Maruki stays with him the whole time, murmuring comfort and anchoring his body with warm touches. He opens his eyes and looks at Maruki’s face, breathes in, out.

Maruki smiles. “Welcome back,” he says. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

Akira nods slowly. His head’s clearer now, at least, but he’s so tired.

“I think you’re ready to go home now,” Maruki says, stroking his hair one last time before gently maneuvering Akira off his lap and onto a sitting position on the bed. “There’ll be a cab outside when you’re back out. Here’re your clothes.” He pats a neat pile of clothes on the bed; even Akira’s coat and glasses are there.

Akira stands up and gets dressed without a word. Distantly, he thinks that his body should probably hurt a little, but it doesn’t. Probably Maruki’s doing. Nice of him.

Maruki leads him back to the entrance, keeping a hand on his back the whole time. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you tomorrow, or the afternoon the day after that,” Maruki says. “I’ll be working on something especially complicated, and I won’t have time for you.” He sounds regretful. 

Akira nods. Talking feels like a lot right now, and thinking’s not much better. 

At the entrance to the Palace, Maruki embraces him, kisses him briefly. “I hope you have a pleasant day tomorrow,” he says, smiling. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

There’s a cab outside, like he said there’d be. The driver’s all smiles, whistling along to the music on the radio, but doesn’t talk to him much.

Morgana isn’t at Leblanc. Akira doesn’t know where he is; but then, Morgana can go wherever he wants now, and there’s no reason for him to check with Akira about it. Maybe he’s with Ann. Maybe he’s out living up the Tokyo nightlife. It’s not Akira’s business.

But it does make the attic feel even emptier, even quieter. And there’s no messages in the group chat.

Akira lies down on his bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks about drowning until he falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Akira spends almost an hour on the subway, silently looking out the window into the blackness of the tunnel, before shaking himself out of it and getting off at the right stop. Though it’s not like he has a lot to do today.

He keeps it together until he gets to the underground mall and sees Ann chatting happily with Shiho Suzui, and then he has to press his forehead against a wall and breathe until it doesn’t feel like he’s going to vomit.

Then he wipes the sweat off his forehead, adjusts his glasses, and walks back up to them with a friendly smile and a casual word about how they’re doing.

Shiho is still injured, but apparently it’s from volleyball. Which she’s very good at, and loves to play. She beams in happiness, glowing with confidence and enthusiasm and all the things she lost for a while because her teacher--

It’s a different situation. Kamoshida was a monster. Akira knows if he’d asked Maruki to stop yesterday, he would have. Maruki’s never _hurt_ Akira, is always nothing but friendly; all Maruki wants is to help people, Akira included. Kamoshida saw people as objects. Maruki’s a _friend._

But still, talking to Ann and Shiho makes Akira want to go back to bed and curl up and spend the next three days not having to think about anything.

And then they leave, and…

And there’s nothing else to do.

Akira’s been checking his phone almost every ten minutes today, hoping that he somehow missed a notification even though he changed the sound to something that would blow his eardrums out if he had it too close to his head. There’s still nothing. There’s still nobody. Nobody wants to talk to him, nobody wants to see him, this is a perfect world where everyone is happy and at peace and completely free of problems--

And if nobody has any problems, nobody needs help solving them, do they?

Faced with a day of nothing and no one, all Akira has to distract himself with are his own thoughts, and those are…

Unpleasant. They stick to his mind like burrs, digging in thorns he has to keep yanking out.

He heads back to Leblanc, hoping maybe _there_ there’ll be something he can distract himself with.

Sojiro nods at him when he enters. There’s only one customer right now, a genial old man with a half-finished plate of curry and a cup of coffee. Morgana’s nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” Akira says, walking up the counter. “Need any help today?”

Sojiro shakes his head with a wry grin. “Nah, it’s slow,” he says. “Go have some fun.”

Akira yanks out another thorn. “Everyone’s busy today,” he says. “I thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sojiro gestures around the café. “Kid, I love you, but you’re really not needed,” he says. “If you’re bored, why not head upstairs and take a nap? You kind of look like you could use one.”

“Yeah, okay,” Akira says distantly. “I’ll think about it.”

He goes up the stairs and into the attic. For a moment he sees an overlay of old Phantom Thieves meetings, everyone gathered around a table and talking about their mission with fire in their eyes. Then he blinks, and it’s just him, bright afternoon sun pouring into a room much bigger than he needs. The size was useful when they had to cram everyone in here, but when it’s just him, it feels like a cavern. He half-expects his footsteps to echo in the dead silence.

He could play a game, maybe. By himself. Or watch a movie. By himself. God, he used to do those things by himself all the time, how did less than a year with Morgana make him this reluctant to do anything alone?

Akira ends up flopping down on the bed after all. Maybe a nap would be okay. He’s sort of managed sleeping at night with Morgana across the room, and he doesn’t have any memories of napping with him, so it should be doable.

He takes off his shoes and most of his clothes, and gets under the covers, tries to think about nothing.

And tries. And tries. The windows don’t have any shutters, so there’s not much blocking the sunlight. There’s no cat-breathing next to his ear. He tries putting his head under the covers, but that gets too hot after a while. No matter what he does, it’s too bright and too quiet and his thoughts just dig into his head more and more.

Maybe he should get out of bed, try something else. But it _sort of_ feels like he might fall asleep soon, if he just waits a while longer. And trying this long to fall asleep has made him feel bleary, disconnected. Staying in bed is uncomfortable, but getting out of it would be worse. 

Akira doesn’t know how much time passes, exactly, but at some point the sunlight starts fading, and he remembers what he’s usually been doing around this time.

Is that just what sex is _like?_ He’s always heard that people enjoy it, so he assumed it felt good, but maybe it takes a while to get used to it. And it’s not like what happened yesterday wasn’t _basically_ what he knows the normal mechanics of sex are; someone puts something inside you and then you get off. That’s supposed to be enjoyable. Sometimes people like being held down, even. Maruki seemed to think he’d like it. Is it weirder that Akira didn’t?

Not that he _hated_ it, really. He got off enough times to prove that. And most of it did sort of feel good, if he didn’t think about it. Akira’s been trying, but he can’t think of a good reason for him to feel the way he did last night. He enjoyed having sex with Maruki before, and he likes Maruki, and it wasn’t painful, so…maybe he does just have to get used to it.

Akira’s positive Maruki would’ve stopped if Akira asked him to. The idea that Maruki’s even remotely similar to Kamoshida is laughable; besides, Maruki isn’t even his teacher anymore, hasn’t been for months. And Akira’ll turn seventeen soon, which is close enough to eighteen that it doesn’t really matter.

Just, if Akira could talk to someone about it, maybe. Get confirmation from an outside source. That’d help. 

Besides the brief conversation with Ann and Shiho, and the briefer one with Sojiro, Akira hasn’t really talked to anyone since last night.

And he won’t talk to anyone for the rest of the night, either, because Maruki’s busy, like everyone else is busy.

He checks his phone. Nothing. He doesn’t know why he even bothers; it’s not like it makes him feel better.

His thumb hesitates over the lockscreen. It couldn’t hurt to _try,_ could it? To talk to someone?

Akira scrolls through his contacts and picks the person he thinks would know the most about it.

**Akira:** Hey can I talk to you?

For fifteen minutes, she doesn’t answer. Akira’s mind spirals into wondering if anyone will _ever_ answer, if they’ve determined he’s so unnecessary they don’t want to talk to him at all unless he confronts them in person.

**Ann:** sorryyyyy i’m out w/shiho right now!! i can talk to you later ok? <3

Akira’s both relieved and not relieved. They’re at least bothering to acknowledge that he exists. But that’s not the same as actually listening to him.

He presses the bases of his hands to his eyes and breathes.

The rest of the night drags, thick and heavy and suffocating. At some point he manages to pass out.

\---

The next morning, Akira wakes up feeling like the world is out of focus. There’s no point in him joining it yet, anyway. He stays in bed another two hours, drifting in and out of a restless sleep that doesn’t make him feel any more awake.

When he does go downstairs, Sojiro nods and says, “Good morning. I figured I’d let you sleep in. School break’s a time to relax, right?”

Akira forces a smile. He hasn’t felt relaxed since December.

He eats half a plate of curry he barely tastes and two cups of coffee in the vague hope that they’ll help; they don’t. The chilly winter air doesn’t do much for him either, besides make him wonder if he should’ve brought a scarf, but going back for one feels like too much effort. So he makes his way to the subway and just…drifts.

Akira doesn’t entirely remember what he does between then and running into Ryuji.

But the sight of Ryuji is a bright spark, pushing energy through his sluggish veins. Akira can almost feel their bond thrumming under his skin; talking to him makes him feel like he’s climbing out of a swamp, finally seeing the sun again.

And then Ryuji leaves with his other friends, and Akira sinks back down.

He finds himself glancing at the gates of Shujin, remembering long talks in the nurse’s office, generous free lunches, the distant memory of a car ride. 

Shiho standing on the roof--

He shakes his head free of it. He needs to find something to do until the evening, and standing in front of Shujin seems like a bad idea.

Somewhere with a lot of people feels overwhelming; too much of a reminder that the world is happening around him, not with him, crowds of happy people who don’t know him at all and won’t even look at him. Somewhere without many people feels frightening; more loneliness, more isolation. Where can he go? Is there anywhere he can go?

Akira walks for almost twenty minutes in no particular direction. When he looks up, he finds he has no idea where he is. 

Tokyo’s a big city. It was bound to happen if he kept wandering. But without even the anchor of familiar streets, it’s like he’s in an entirely different world, an unwelcome intruder in a happiness that has nothing to do with him. He feels small, meaningless, simultaneously trapped and pushed away. 

Somehow he ends up slumped against the wall of a building he doesn’t recognize, sliding onto the cold concrete. No one around him seems to notice him at all. The chilliness in the air seems to intensify; he shoves his hands in his pockets, huddles in, tries to breathe, isn’t sure he’s succeeding.

The burrs in Akira’s mind dig in their jagged thorns until they’re embedded so deeply it feels like yanking them out is impossible.

He loses track of time for a while.

What brings him out of it, in the end, is a soft beep from his phone. He stares ahead for a second, not sure what he’s hearing, until it registers and he scrambles to pull it out of his pocket, heart pounding. Who’s messaging him? Who wants him?

The white eye of the Metaverse Navigator pulses on the lock screen, then vanishes. No other notifications appear.

But that’s almost as good, because his lock screen shows the time, and it’s finally evening.

Akira scrambles to his feet. There must be a subway station around here somewhere. Over there--and as he rushes inside to check the train schedule he’s relieved to find he’s not that far from Odaiba.

For the rest of the train ride he’s filled with nervous energy, tapping his fingers against his thigh, impatient for this long slog to finally _stop_ and let him feel like a person again. He makes his way to the stadium as quickly as he can, and hops the gate into the Palace faster than he ever has before.

He practically bursts into the foyer, heads straight for the door--

Which opens as soon as he reaches it, Maruki walking out with a smile.

For a moment, Akira just stands there. It almost doesn’t seem real, that he’s looking at someone who isn’t going to leave five minutes from now. 

“Kurusu-kun?” Maruki asks, his smile slipping a little. “Are you doing all right?”

And Akira blinks, once, twice, puts together a normal face and says, “Yeah, it was just a long day.”

Maruki takes Akira’s hand, lightly traces his knuckles. “You can tell me anything, you know,” he says gently. “If you’re going through something, I want to know about it. I care about you.”

It’s like sinking into a warm bath after walking through a blizzard. Akira swallows, and tries not to start shaking.

“Let’s get into the lounge,” Maruki says, letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist and lead him towards the elevator. “You look like you could use a rest.”

But once they get in there, Maruki leads him towards the door of the bedroom. Akira tenses. Maruki glances at him and says, painfully gently, “You’re clearly not feeling well; we don’t have to do anything. I’d just like to hold you for a while.”

In the bedroom, Maruki slips off Akira’s glasses and coat, lays them down carefully on the floor. He takes Akira’s hand again, leads him onto the bed; lies down, and pulls Akira into his arms, resting Akira’s head on his chest.

Akira closes his eyes and melts.

He feels Maruki press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Whatever happened, you’re safe now,” Maruki murmurs. “I’m here.”

Safe. It would normally feel ironic, the idea of safety in the Metaverse, but right now Akira’s so exhausted down to his bones it sounds about right. Maruki talks to him almost every day; Maruki’s the only person who always wants to see him. Maruki seemed regretful when he told Akira he’d be busy yesterday. Maruki notices he’s there, wants him around, is holding him like he’s something precious.

Maruki strokes Akira’s back, soothingly, up and down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you yesterday,” he murmurs. “I won’t do that again. You don’t ever have to be alone, I promise. I’ll take care of you as much as you need.”

The burrs in Akira’s mind disintegrate in the gentle warmth of Maruki’s voice. All the stress and anxiety seems to vanish completely, now that he’s safe in Maruki’s arms.

“If you want to talk to me about it, you can,” Maruki murmurs. “But you don’t have to. I’m perfectly happy to just hold you.”

Talking seems beyond Akira at the moment. He just wants to drift off where he is and maybe not wake up for a while. The rest of the world won’t miss him. It doesn’t need him for anything, not like Maruki--

Wait, no, it _does._

The reminder wrenches Akira’s mind out of the warm fog. It’s January 7th. He still hasn’t seen Yusuke this week. He needs to do that tomorrow, and then on the ninth he’s going to come back here with Akechi and rescue Sumire and _stop all of this._

Maruki’s hand on his back stills. “Kurusu-kun?” Maruki asks. “You’ve gone tense. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not the ninth yet,” Akira says.

“You don’t have to wait until the ninth,” Maruki says gently. “It might be better for you to make the decision now, in fact. You don’t need two more days of stress.”

Akira levers himself out of Maruki’s arms, and immediately wishes he hadn’t; the loss of that warmth feels like he’s stepping back into the blizzard. “I have to see this through,” he says. “I went through so much to get to this point, I can’t stop now.”

“It’s _because_ you’ve been through so much that it’s okay to stop now,” Maruki says, sitting up and lightly touching his arm. “The rest of the world can continue without you.”

God, falling back into it is so tempting. It feels like he’s barely gotten out, like he could sink right back in at any moment. But if he concentrates, he can compartmentalize: there are more important things going on than him. It’s a line of thought he’s familiar with, and he holds onto it like a lifeline. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he says. He hesitates. “And--you’ve said it before, right? I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”

Maruki gives a sad smile. “I suppose that’s true,” he says softly. “Very well. If you want to go so badly, I won’t stop you. But if it ever feels like too much, I’m always here for you. It’s never too late for you to come back to me.”

Akira slides off the bed, picks up his coat and glasses. The idea of going back out into that crushing isolation makes his hands tremble, but he puts them back on anyway. 

“You should at least see me again tomorrow,” Maruki says, getting off the bed and walking towards him. “I don’t imagine the day will be any easier for you than the previous ones. Regardless of your choices, you deserve a break.”

Akira swallows. He’s not confident tomorrow will be a good day either. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”

Maruki smiles. “At least let me take you back to the entrance,” he says. “I’d rather spend these last moments with you.”

Maruki keeps a hand on his lower back all the way down to the elevator on the other side of the foyer.

“Goodnight,” Maruki says, and leans in to kiss his forehead. “Even if our time tonight was cut short, I’m happy I could make you feel better.”

Akira tries to imagine what tonight would’ve been like if he’d stayed by himself, and the thought makes him shiver inside. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And he goes back out into the cold night.

Sojiro’s already closed up by the time he gets back. Morgana’s out again. Leblanc is completely silent and empty, and not much warmer than the outside was.

When he sits back down onto the thin mattress, he’s hit by a wave of exhaustion.

God, why didn’t he stay? Even just another ten minutes would’ve been time he didn’t have to be here. Or an hour. An hour like that would’ve been more restful than a full night’s sleep in the attic, he’s sure. 

Akira puts his face in his hands and takes a shuddering breath. He made his decision, he has to deal with it. Besides, he’ll go back again tomorrow. He just has to make it through the rest of the day.

The rest of what will undoubtedly be another draining, horrible day. 

On automatic, he checks his phone. Still nothing. But the white eye of the Nav is a soft reminder of what’s waiting for him.

Akira breathes in, out. Gets ready for bed.

Shivers in the cold. Was it this cold earlier? He can’t remember. He huddles under his blankets and remembers arms around him, blocking out all the stress of the day. 

Tomorrow. He can have that again tomorrow, after he talks to Yusuke.

He dreams about an icy street corner with thousands of happy people passing him by no matter how much he begs, leaving him to freeze alone.

\---

Is it Akira’s eyes, or does Yusuke look a little less thin than usual?

Less pale, certainly. The passion in his eyes shines as brightly as ever, but now it doesn’t have to break free of a poorly-maintained body. This is a world where artistic integrity and financial success can go hand-in-hand. 

And it’s a world where after Akira takes the hint and leaves Yusuke to his gallery, the weather outside has progressed to a point where Akira desperately wishes he’d brought a scarf and gloves after all.

The air almost seems to freeze in his lungs. Everyone around comments on how unusual it is, how refreshing a change of pace from last year, how they’re looking forward to the first snow.

Akira walks down the icy streets. That’s all of them, he thinks. He’s seen all of the Phantom Thieves and how they’re living in this world. Like Maruki said, they’re all blissfully happy, their loved ones alive and healthy and kind. If reality was restored, they would lose all of that. Would they forgive him for taking it away? 

Not that they seem especially attached to him in this world, either.

Akira fidgets on the subway. Today wasn’t as bad as he feared. Maybe the burst of motivation from last night strengthened his spirits a little, or maybe he’s just getting used to it. 

But he’s still looking forward to seeing Maruki. He misses that comfort, that solidity. That feeling of being completely welcomed, no matter how useful he was.

And it’s so _cold._

The temperature in the Palace seems a little higher than it usually is. Akira rubs his frozen hands together as he walks up the stairs in the foyer, hoping to warm them back up even faster.

Before he reaches the door, he hears Maruki say, “I’m so glad you’re back, Kurusu-kun,” and turns to see him stepping out of the side elevator with a smile.

“Me too,” Akira says. “It’s freezing out there.”

Maruki makes a sympathetic sound. “I’ll bet,” he says. “You seem to be feeling better, though. Did you have a good day?”

“I wouldn’t say _good,”_ Akira says, as Maruki puts an arm around his waist and leads him to the elevator. “But better than yesterday, yeah.”

“I’m delighted to hear that,” Maruki says. “Why don’t we go sit down so you can tell me about it.”

They end up on a couch again, sides pressed together, Maruki wrapping an arm around Akira’s shoulders. “Who did you see today?” Maruki asks.

Akira rests his head against Maruki’s shoulder, feels the lingering stress start to drain away. “Yusuke,” he says. “He’s doing well.”

The corner of Maruki’s mouth twitches. “I should hope so,” he says. “That’s the point of this.”

“It kind of got me thinking,” Akira says. “This is supposed to be a perfect world, right? Where everybody’s happy?”

“Right,” Maruki says, nodding.

Akira exhales. “So why is it so unhappy for _me?”_ he asks.

Maruki’s hand rubs Akira’s upper arm. “That’s tricky,” he says. “I’ve done my best, but it seems your particular personality, wonderful as it is, has grown reliant on supporting others. In a world where no one needs support, you find yourself adrift. You’ve tied up too much of your identity in being _needed._ It’s no wonder you’d have a hard time here.”

Something in Akira’s chest clenches. “Wanting to help people isn’t _bad,”_ he says, a little defensively.

“Oh, no, of course it isn’t!” Maruki says. “Your sense of justice is one of your best qualities, though I personally don’t think you have any bad ones.” He presses a kiss to Akira’s temple. “But it’s just not compatible with this reality,” he says softly. “I wish that wasn’t the case, but it is.”

Some of the stress is starting to leach back. “Doesn’t that kind of throw a spanner in your plan, then?” Akira says. “If I’m the person you want to choose this reality, and it’s one I can’t be happy in?”

“Well,” Maruki says gently. “Let me phrase it a different way. In the old reality, you can be happy, but the rest of the world won’t. In this one, you can’t, but the rest of the world will. It’s a choice of self-sacrifice, I’m afraid. And isn’t that the same choice you’ve been making this entire year? Putting yourself at risk to save others?”

Akira remembers what Sae said, on Christmas Eve. What he was about to agree to, when Akechi appeared and spared him from making that choice.

“…yeah,” Akira says quietly.

Maruki shifts position, tilts Akira’s chin up so they can see each other’s faces again. “But it’s not as if your sacrifice would be completely thankless,” he says, smiling. “I meant it when I said I would take care of you. You can still be happy here, just in a different way than you were before. Whether or not the world needs you, I do.”

And he kisses Akira, just briefly.

Akira’s chest tightens. He’d started to wonder if living in this reality would be unbearable for him. Hearing that there’s an out, a way for everyone else to be happy _and_ for him to be useful to someone, makes it seem like this reality is the only option. Is it even a good thing, to prefer living in an imperfect world because being able to help people makes you _feel better?_ How messed up would he have to be, to choose unhappiness for everyone else just because if no one’s unhappy nobody will indulge his desire to be needed?

“You’ve still got until tomorrow to choose,” Maruki says, brushing his thumb across Akira’s cheek. “But I know you’ll make the right decision. You’re too good a person to give up now.”

Akira wants to believe he’s a good person. He _thought_ he was, at any rate. But a good person would do good because it was the right thing to do, wouldn’t they, not because of some compulsion?

So maybe he wasn’t, before.

And maybe he can be now.

Maruki smiles. “I can see you’re thinking it over,” he says. “But that can wait, can’t it? Right now, I just want to be with you.”

He kisses Akira again, deeper. Akira leans into it, closes his eyes, sits up more. Lets himself be pulled onto Maruki’s lap, straddling him, one of Maruki’s arms on his back and the other carding fingers through his hair.

Akira wraps his arms around Maruki’s shoulders and sinks into the comforting warmth of not having to think.

\---

Once they enter Maruki’s Palace, Akechi stops and stares at Akira.

“Well, _that’s_ odd,” he says, frowning. “Is Maruki so convinced you’ll choose this reality that he doesn’t see you as a threat anymore?”

Akira glances down at this clothes--just as it’s been for the past week, they haven’t changed.

He should’ve thought of this. Asked Maruki about it, maybe. 

“I guess?” he says, because Akechi’s theory does seem plausible, if you don’t know the truth.

Akechi’s eyes narrow behind the mask. “Try summoning a Persona,” he says.

Akira calls out Yatagarasu from within him--or tries to, anyway. Nothing responds.

“Doesn’t look like I can,” he says uneasily.

_“Shit,”_ Akechi mutters. “He has no intention of going down easy, does he? Do you at least have your weapons?”

Akira shakes his head. “All my equipment is in the outfit,” he says.

Akechi makes an extremely disgruntled noise. _“Fine,”_ he says stiffly. “Just stay out of my way.”

And he stalks into the front elevator, leaving Akira to follow behind.

Akira’s grown so accustomed to meeting Maruki in the foyer that he’s almost surprised when nobody comes out to greet them. The side elevator is gone, too.

Akechi pulls open the doors that lead to the rest of the Palace. “If we see any Shadows, find somewhere to hide,” he says. “I’m not going to waste time protecting you if you catch their attention.”

Somehow Akira doesn’t think that’s entirely true.

But it’s a moot point, because they _don’t_ see any Shadows.

Not in the halls, not in the side areas. Granted, the distance between the foyer and the auditorium isn’t huge, but their last visit here together had _some_ enemies. And now there’s nothing.

“What is he playing at?” Akechi mutters, as they turn into another empty hallway. “Trying to make himself seem harmless?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want us to get hurt,” Akira says.

Akechi lets out a bark of a laugh. “Then maybe he should be called Joker instead,” he says. “This past week was a _nightmare.”_

Akira sort of wants to ask, but he’s not sure Akechi would answer. And besides, it’s not like _his_ week was a cake walk. Some of it, anyway.

Finally, they reach the door to the auditorium. “Get ready,” Akechi says. “He must be in here.”

And he is.

Sumire sits on a tall, fairy-blue chair, seemingly asleep. Maruki stands next to her, smiling.

“Welcome back,” he says. “I take it you’ve both had time to think about my offer?”

“Nice of you to pretend _I_ have any say in this,” Akechi says icily.

“It’s your world too,” Maruki says. “You’ll be living in it with all the others. I’d hoped this week would give you time to realize it.”

Akechi jerks a thumb towards Akira. _“He’s_ the one your Palace thinks isn’t a threat,” he says. “Good thing you kept the Shadows away, or he would’ve been torn to pieces.”

“I could never allow any harm to befall you,” Maruki says gently, looking at Akira. “Once you choose this reality, you’ll never experience any pain again.”

Akira’s chest clenches. The idea of that warmth continuing forever, and the rest of the world living just as peacefully, is so enticing it hurts.

“Bullshit,” Akechi says flatly. “Human desires are a tangled mess, it’s impossible to grant happiness to _everyone._ I’m sure you’ve painted a pretty picture for Joker, but he only sees so much of the world. One step outside his immediate social bubble, and the illusion collapses.”

“If that’s what you think, I can’t stop you,” Maruki says sadly. “Kurusu-kun? What do _you_ think?”

The world seems to stand on the edge of a knife.

Last night was _so_ good. Nothing Akira wasn’t sure he wanted, just endless reassurance and comfort and softness. 

Akechi looks at Akira. “Don’t let yourself be drawn in by his pathetic lies,” he says. “I know you’re smarter than that.”

_They’re not lies,_ Akira doesn’t say. _I know he can make people happy. I know he wants me to be happy, too. And I was. It was hard sometimes, but that’ll go away once everything gets settled._

“…you’re _joking,”_ Akechi says, aghast, when Akira doesn’t respond. “You’re not seriously considering this? Did you spend this week _asleep?_ Surely even _your_ hero complex can tell that a world where everyone’s happy is untenable.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Akira says. “If he had more time to put it together, it’d work.”

Maruki smiles.

Akechi grabs Akira by the front of his shirt and yanks him close, the sharp points of his helmet almost digging into Akira’s neck. “This is _bullshit,”_ Akechi snarls. “What _happened_ to you? The Joker _I_ know wouldn’t be fooled by some trumped-up cult leader.”

Akira feels a flare of irritation. “I’m not _fooled,”_ he snaps. “Anyone could see he has a point.”

_“Anyone--”_ Akechi gives an almost hysterical laugh, and points up to the stage, at Sumire, sleeping silently in the chair. “Could _Yoshizawa_ see he has a point? No, because he made it so she _couldn’t._ That man isn’t a savior, he’s a control freak who wants a world where no one’s capable of rejecting what _he_ thinks is best for them.”

Unbidden, the words come to mind, said so many times this past week-- _let me take care of you--_

“The choice he gave you was idiotic from the start,” Akechi snaps. “Who are _you_ to decide what’s best for the world? It makes you little better than him. But that’s probably the _point,_ isn’t it. If you think it’s fair for the fate of the world to be determined by one person, it’s a logical progression to letting it be determined by a _different_ person. He’s been manipulating you from the start, Joker, don’t you _get it?”_

“If I may interject,” Maruki says mildly.

_“You fucking may not,”_ Akechi snarls.

Akira’s conviction wasn’t solid to begin with, and now it’s fraying. “I _know_ Maruki,” he says, a little desperately. “He’s a good person. Even before all this happened, he talked about wanting to help people. He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt anyone.”

“Oh, _please,”_ Akechi says scathingly. “He’s as human as the rest of us, even now. _No one_ is so completely good and pure that they couldn’t possibly commit a negative act. Have you really _never_ seen him do anything even the slightest bit selfish, or jealous, or resentful, or any of the myriad examples of humanity’s moral frailty?”

And Akira hesitates.

He’s only so good an actor. Maruki must’ve seen that Akira wasn’t completely uncomfortable with the tentacles, but he did it anyway.

Something in Akechi’s eyes gleams. _“There,”_ he says triumphantly, and lets go of Akira’s shirt. “Doesn’t matter what it is. You know there’s _something.”_

“It’s not--” Akira says weakly, even to his own ears.

“Any amount of doubt is enough when it comes to deciding if someone is worthy of being _the omnipotent ruler of all reality,”_ Akechi snaps. “Hurry up and reject him already so we can move on with this farce.”

Akira looks up at Maruki, hoping for…what, exactly? Maruki promising to be better? Willingly giving up his position? Offering an explanation for why Akechi is wrong?

Maruki doesn’t do any of those things. He just looks sadly back at Akira and says, “Is that the side you’ve chosen?”

Akira swallows. He wants to say no. 

He says, “Yeah.”

And Maruki smiles so sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “I hope I’ll get another chance to convince you, Kurusu-kun. But for now, I think it’s time for Yoshizawa-san to wake up.”

Blue flame flickers around Akira as the Joker clothes reform around him.

And then a great many things happen.

\---

Akira doesn’t go back to the Palace that night.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say to Maruki. _Something,_ obviously, but--he doesn’t want to apologize. He’s made his decision, and the deadline is set. Begging Maruki to stand down wouldn’t do any good. Anything else…well, he doesn’t know.

Moreover, Morgana’s back in cat form. Watchful, clingy cat form. Akira’s too tired to come up with a good excuse.

“Hey,” Morgana says, head rising up from where he’s curled next to Akira in the bed. “Are you feeling all right? I remember whenever I talked to you this week, you seemed pretty tired. Was this reality that bad for you?”

Akira takes a moment to compose his thoughts before he answers. “I’m just not used to being on my own so much, I guess,” he says. 

Morgana’s ears droop. “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you,” he says.

“It’s fine.” Akira doesn’t really want to talk about it.

“Well, you aren’t on your own now,” Morgana says firmly. “The Phantom Thieves are back in action! Whenever you need us, we’ll be there.”

Akira presses the crook of his elbow over his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

_Would you still be there for me if you knew how close I came to choosing this reality,_ he wonders. _Would you still be there for me if you knew why. Would you still be there for me if you knew how much I want to see him again._

And part of him says, _yes,_ but most of him doesn’t say anything at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a non-detailed depiction of vomiting.

All told, it takes three days before Akira returns to Maruki’s Palace.

School and team meetings fill up time, and Morgana seems determined to make sure Akira gets enough sleep to make up for…well, Morgana’s not sure exactly, since Akira hasn’t told him, but he seems to take Akira’s behavior as a sign that sleep is needed. Which isn’t wrong, really. 

It’s just that it turns out sleep doesn’t come much easier with Morgana next to him after all. Akira spends hours every night staring at the backs of his eyelids, guilt whispering up through his mind. Which would be the greater blow: betraying his friends, or betraying Maruki? The answer _should_ be obvious. He’s spent much more time with his friends, he’s been through so much more. His friends aren’t trying to take control of all humanity.

But every time he tries to think of Maruki as a villain, he hits a roadblock. _Flawed,_ sure, everyone is, but not _evil._ Not beyond understanding. Not beyond connection.

And so his sleep is uneasy, and his dreams unclear.

The Phantom Thieves finally go to the Palace as a group, everyone commenting on the smiling cognitions and what they call a creepy atmosphere. Akira doesn’t say much about it. Whenever he looks at the white walls he remembers Maruki changing the décor of the lounge to make him more comfortable.

Akira wants to get through it as fast as possible, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He keeps his mouth shut about what the others are calling “cables”, and they leave, promising to visit Mementos tomorrow to learn more.

And when everyone starts to head off to the subway station, Akira turns to Morgana.

“I’ve got some business to take care of in Odaiba,” he says. “Go on ahead without me, I’ll probably be back late.”

Morgana’s tail flicks. “Secret business that I can’t know about?” he says archly.

The corner of Akira’s mouth twitches in a practiced, casual movement. “Nothing like that,” he says. “I’m helping Ohya with an article.”

None of the others have ever mentioned running into Ohya, and nobody has reason to go to Crossroads by themselves. No one else knows her number, either. It’s as ironclad a lie as Akira can get.

“You still need to catch up on sleep, you know,” Morgana says. “Don’t think I don’t notice you tossing and turning.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Akira says. And who knows, maybe he will sleep better tonight.

Morgana gives a small kitty _harrumph._ “If you fall asleep on the subway tomorrow, don’t blame me,” he says, and runs off to catch up with Futaba.

Akira takes a deep breath. He wasn’t completely sure that would work.

He turns to look back at the Palace towering above Odaiba. It looks more threatening, now.

He re-activates the Nav and goes back in.

Akira stands in the foyer a little uneasily. Is it going to be how it was before? His clothes have returned to the Joker outfit. There’ve never been any Shadows in this room, though, so he can’t tell immediately what that means.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, the side elevator shimmers into being and slides open.

Maruki walks out, looking just as he did before, untouched by the progress they’ve made in his Palace. He smiles sadly, and walks closer, but doesn’t reach out.

“Hello, Kurusu-kun,” he says. “Here for another round?”

Akira shakes his head. “I just wanted to see you,” he says, and his voice sounds smaller than he thought it would.

“Aren’t you afraid to come here alone, without the help of your friends? The Shadows here are quite strong, you know.” 

Akira swallows. “Are you going to summon any right now?”

Maruki looks a little surprised. “Of course not,” he says. “Assuming you _are_ here just to see me.”

“I am,” Akira says. The conversation’s going in circles; he tries to take hold of it. “And even if you did, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Maruki gives a faint smile. “Even after all the trouble you’ve been through today?” he says. “Some of the Shadows seemed to give you a rough time of it.”

Akira’s throat works. “I know _you_ wouldn’t hurt me,” he says.

Maruki looks at him for a while, then exhales. “I’m glad you realize that,” he says quietly.

Akira takes a step closer. “I want to help you,” he says, a little desperately. “It’s not too late for you. After we steal your heart and the world goes back to normal, I want to see you again.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Maruki says, smiling. “But the old world wouldn’t be so kind to us. This relationship can only exist here. If you destroy this world…” He sighs, and finally reaches out, rests his hand on the side of Akira’s face. “Then I would rather never see you again than be reminded of what we can never have.”

Akira’s chest clenches like a vise. “That’s not fair,” he says, even as the warmth of Maruki’s gloved hand seems to spread across him.

“The old world was never fair,” Maruki says. “If you want to live in one that is…” He gestures around the foyer. “Then you’ll have to find a way to stop your friends. Convincing them would be preferable, of course. I’m not sure force would be an option.”

Akira doesn’t say anything. His first instinct is to reject the idea. He already refused Maruki’s offer, he already chose the old world. He can’t go back on that.

But there’s a tiny voice inside him that says, _what if you can?_

Maruki’s hand slips from Akira’s face, down his neck, comes to rest on his shoulder. “But the easiest option, I think, would simply be to wait,” he says. “On the night of February 2nd, you can choose again. And if you choose me, I can arrange it so that the Phantom Thieves decide not to come to the Palace after all.”

Akira stares. “I can’t do that,” he says in a small voice.

“You’re capable of a great many things, Kurusu-kun,” Maruki says, smiling. “You faltered once, but I know you can make up for it.”

Doubt swirls in Akira’s mind. That question, again, of who he can betray. Akechi’s argument seems less logical days later; Akechi doesn’t know Maruki, anyway. 

Maruki squeezes his shoulder. “And even if you’re not sure about it right now, I trust that you’ll make the right choice when the time comes,” he says. “I trust you more than anyone. You can do this. You can help make the world the better place it deserves to be.”

He takes a step closer, strokes Akira’s hair. Smiles so softly. “You can help _me,”_ he says.

The Joker outfit disappears in a flare of blue flame.

Akira’s breath catches in his throat.

Maruki removes Akira’s glasses, and leans in, and gently kisses him. It feels like it’s been years since they last kissed. It feels like it’s been years since Akira felt anything but adrift and uneasy. Akira melts into it, opening his mouth and embracing Maruki as Maruki embraces him, sinking back into the comfort he didn’t realize how much he missed.

He lets Maruki lead him back to the lounge, back to the bedroom, remove his coat and scarf and press down him down the mattress, kiss him breathless and stroke him until he comes with a cry, hold him through the aftershocks and whisper about how amazing and beautiful he is. Akira drinks it in like a man dying of thirst. How could he have gone days without this? How did he possibly manage?

After it all, Maruki leads him back to the entrance, and kisses him again, and again. “I barely want to let you go,” Maruki murmurs. “I couldn’t stand being apart from you for so long.”

Akira nods, his throat tight. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says.

Maruki smiles. “I know you will,” he says.

It’s not _betrayal,_ to want a better life for someone. The others will understand when the time comes. And until then, he can enjoy a few final outings as a phantom thief. One last turn around the room before the dance ends and he can go back home to ceaseless comfort forever.

One last month before he saves the world for the final time.

\---

But in the cold light of morning, Morgana batting at his head and telling him to go to school, what seemed like solid conviction starts to crumble.

It’s just so much harder to keep hold of Maruki’s words when Akira’s distracted by Morgana whispering to him about the teacher’s lecture, the sight of Ann sitting in front of him for hours and not going anywhere, lunch with Ann and Ryuji, texts during class and after. Akira’s _surrounded_ by constant reminders of his friends. And faced with that, doubt sits in his stomach like a cold, hard stone. 

Mementos is a fucking _wash._

The white walls remind him too much of Maruki’s Palace. The undulating, tentacled Shadows remind him too much of Maruki’s Palace. His brain can’t quite reconcile it; his friends are there, but Maruki’s also sort of there, and somehow it feels like the two can’t coexist. He didn’t feel like this when they were in Maruki’s Palace yesterday, why does he feel it _now?_

 _“Cendrillon!”_ Sumire calls, sending a brilliant kougaon to disintegrate a Chernobog. Akechi tears into the Melchizedek next to it with his sword, and Makoto finishes it off with a well-placed freidyne. Akira pulls Yatagarasu from his mind, tries to send an agidyne at the remaining Chernobog; but it goes wide, flares uselessly against the tunnel wall.

The Chernobog raises its sword, the long-stalked mushrooms rising up from its cloak writhing around. An image of a straw doll appears in front of Akira, nails stabbing through it with a bloody spray, and Akira remembers at the last second of the mudoon that _Yatagarasu’s weak to curse--_

“What the fuck are you _doing?”_ Akechi snarls, kicking Akira out of the way and nulling the attack. Akira stumbles, almost falls.

Sumire takes care of the Chernobog instead, a blaze of light evaporating it and ending the fight. She glances over at Akira. “Joker-senpai, are you okay?” she asks.

Akira nods. He almost _wasn’t,_ but--it worked out.

“No you’re _not,_ you’ve been out of it all day,” Akechi snaps. “Get it together, _leader.”_

“We could use a break, maybe,” Makoto says, her eyes darting between them. “It’s been a while. Anyone want coffee?”

“I would _love_ a coffee,” Sumire says fervently. Akira feels a stab of guilt; Sumire’s been spell-heavy this whole trip, and she wouldn’t have needed to use that last one if he hadn’t missed.

Akechi crosses his arms, looks down the tunnel. “I could do with some healing,” he says grudgingly.

That, at least, Akira can manage. Yatagarasu brings down a mediarahan, all the cuts and bruises vanishing in a wave of green energy. Akechi straightens a little, his posture less hunched. He’s been using a lot of laevateinns, Akira realizes.

Ann stretches her arms over her head, cricks her neck. “Maybe Joker can handle support for a while?” she suggests. “We all have our off days.”

“I think that’d be a good idea,” Makoto says, while Sumire chugs a thermos. “Sound good to you, Joker?”

“Sure,” Akira says, because it’s easier than disagreeing. Maybe he’ll be able to focus better if he doesn’t have to worry about accuracy.

Sumire empties the thermos and wipes her mouth with a gloved hand. “Is there something on your mind?” she asks. “Crow-senpai’s right, you seem a little distracted.”

Akira shrugs one shoulder. “Can you blame me for being stressed?”

Sumire’s expression turns understanding, but Akechi scoffs. “You had plenty reason to be stressed the _last_ time I worked with you, and you weren’t nearly as much a liability then,” he says.

Ann lightly thwaps Akechi on the arm. “Be nice,” she says. The resulting look on Akechi’s face would almost be funny, if Akira was in the mood for it.

“Perhaps we should call it a day,” Yusuke suggests. “We don’t have to reach the top of the path all in one go.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, we should get this done as soon as we can,” he says. “I don’t want to waste any time.”

_I don’t want to spend so much time with you guys that I falter again._

“If you say so, Joker,” Morgana says uncertainly.

Being Joker has always felt like a second skin. An unleashing of everything he ever wanted to be. The spirit of his rebellion, the spirit of his justice, the spirit of his conviction that he’s doing the right thing.

Today it feels like the clothes of someone three times his size, so large and unwieldy he’s drowning in it.

He’s made his decision, he thinks, as they reach the top of the new Mementos and cut away the tentacles connecting it to Maruki’s Palace. He’s made his decision, he thinks, as they return to the entrance and talk about plans to meet again tomorrow. 

He’s made his decision, he tells himself over and over, while the spirit of rebellion cracks like glass inside him.

\---

“I thought I’d show you something today,” Maruki says as he leads Akira into the elevator. “Since you’ve seen the monitoring room in Mementos, I thought it might be interesting for you to get a closer look at it.”

Akira blinks in surprise. “Mementos is pretty far from here,” he says.

Maruki smiles. “In the cognitive world, Mementos is never as far as you might think,” he says.

When the elevator arrives, it doesn’t open onto the lounge, but the screen-filled room from the peak of Mementos, tentacles still withdrawn from the large column.

In the center, a little white-haired boy looks at them, blinking.

“Hey, mister,” Jose says, a little slowly. “You brought a new friend?”

“Something like that,” Akira says, keeping his voice steady. Why is Jose _here?_ He saw him a few times today, but Jose never mentioned wanting to visit this room.

Maruki gives a friendly wave. “Hello,” he says. “I think you already know who I am, though.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the guy who makes the flowers that don’t taste good,” Jose says. He wrinkles his nose. “And you’re why mister’s all sad now.”

Akira’s mouth works on autopilot while his mind freezes. “I’m not _sad,_ Jose, I’m just thinking about a lot of things,” he says, and prays that Jose won’t go into the topic any further.

Jose purses his lips. “Hrmmm. If you say so, mister.”

Maruki squeezes Akira’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jose,” he says genially. “Thank you for helping out Kurusu-kun.”

Jose looks unimpressed. “I like mister a lot,” he says. “I don’t know if I like you very much. Your flowers look like the other flowers, but they taste like dead things.”

“The flowers around Mementos, you mean?” Maruki says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve always been curious what their actual purpose is. I certainly didn’t put them here.”

“Right,” Jose says, nodding. “You think you’re really important, but there’s still a lot you don’t know. I don’t think you’ll ever know, either.” He turns to Akira. “Sorry, mister, but I’m gonna go now,” he says. “I don’t really want to talk to this guy.”

“Okay,” Akira says, and tries to hide his relief. He likes Jose, but…he’s glad this conversation’s over. “Have a nice night.”

“Take care of yourself, mister,” Jose says, and hops in his car, and drives off into the distance.

“What an odd little boy,” Maruki says, once the car is out of sight.

“Yeah, he’s…something, all right,” Akira says. “He’s usually a lot nicer, sorry about that.”

Maruki shakes his head, smiling. “No, I understand,” he says. “I’d hardly expect your other friends to approve of us either. If we see him again after the deadline, I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Somehow Akira’s not sure Jose would still be here after that. Where he would go, Akira doesn’t know, but…not here.

“Anyway, now that that’s over with, I can get to what I actually wanted to show you,” Maruki says, and leads Akira over to the banks of screens.

They flicker between different shots, mostly closeups, people in Mementos or the real world, walking down the street or sitting inside or working various jobs. “I thought these weren’t working anymore,” Akira says, a little uneasily.

“Well, you certainly had an impact on my Palace,” Maruki says. “I’m sure you’ll see _that_ the next time you visit.”

Akira tries not to cringe. The others would have insisted on doing it, so he didn’t exactly have a choice, but that doesn’t mean he feels good about it. 

“But Mementos and this reality are still partially fused,” Maruki continues. “There will always be _some_ data transfer. And I can do a lot with a little.”

As Maruki stops in front of one screen, it settles on a girl in a school uniform, sitting on a bed.

The camera zooms in to get closer to her face, showing puffy red eyes and damp cheeks. The girl sniffs, then scrubs at her face with her arm, getting rid of the dampness, but doing nothing to alter the look of absolute misery.

“Tomoyo Takenaka,” Maruki says, resting a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “Sixteen years old, honors student. The weight of everyone’s expectations for her is crushing her spirit, causing her to perform less than exceptionally at school, which causes the people around her to blame her for not trying harder, which causes her to perform even worse. Her friends try to be supportive, but their attempts to cheer her on only add more stress to her shoulders. She sees two possible futures for herself: one where her grades collapse completely, leaving her a disgrace with no future prospects and a family that hates her, and one where she avoids all of that by taking her own life.”

Akira shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. He doubts Tomoyo would be happy to know people were watching her right now.

“I had to think about this one for a while, but I believe I’ve found the solution for her,” Maruki says. 

Sound cuts in; Tomoyo’s sniffling is cut off by a generic ringtone. She pulls a phone out of her pocket and stares at it for a few seconds. Finally, she answers, her voice calm and collected in a way Akira finds very familiar.

_“Hello?”_

A young male voice answers. _“Hello, Takenaka-san? This is Ishii-kun. Um, from class?”_

 _“Yes, I remember,”_ Tomoyo says. A look of unease settles onto her face. _“How did you get this number?”_

Ishii gives a nervous little laugh. _“Well, I was doing cleaning just now, and I think I found your wallet? It was on the floor near your desk, and it has your ID in it.”_

The unease quickly switches to horror. Tomoyo grabs a purse off the floor and rummages through it, turning it upside down when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.

_“And I thought I’d leave it in the lost and found, but it looks like there’s a train pass in there too and you’d probably need that for tomorrow, right? So I asked Nakamura-sensei for your number, so I could tell you about it now and you could pick it up today.”_

Tomoyo takes the phone away from her face, takes a deep breath, and returns to the call. _“Thank you for telling me,”_ she says. _“I’ll come by soon to get it.”_

_“It’s no trouble at all, Takenaka-san. I’ll still be here for a while, so I’ll give it to you then. See you soon!”_

_“See you soon,”_ Tomoyo says, and ends the call.

The image freezes. “Ishii-kun’s a good kid,” Maruki says. “Over the next week or so, I’ll add a few more small events that show Takenaka-san that he can be relied upon. Eventually, she’ll confide in him about what she’s going through. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone about your problems when you don’t know them very well. Since he’s not part of her friend group, it won’t be stressful for her. She’ll come to see him as a source of kindness and support, and having that in her life will ease her burdens enough that her grades will improve again. Her family and teachers will be proud of her, and her life will improve immeasurably. I haven’t decided yet exactly how long it will take for her and Ishii-kun to fall in love, but once that happens, her happiness will be ensured for the rest of her life.”

Maruki smiles as he says all this. Akira looks down at the screen, at Tomoyo Takenaka, here reduced to a collection of pixels and a sob story. Were there truly only two options for her without Maruki’s influence? 

“Sometimes all it takes is one additional person to support you,” Maruki says warmly. “A valuable lesson, I think.”

Akira glances around the other screens. Countless other people, countless lives. Maruki’s stepping in to handle all of them the way he sees fit, taking discordant notes from a symphony and writing in new ones to make it flow beautifully and perfectly.

“When reality fully merges with Mementos, I’ll be able to do this on a much larger scale,” Maruki says. “It shouldn’t take long before I can look into the lives of every person on the planet. Of course, even after that, the world will require upkeep to prevent it from falling back into old ways, but…” He turns to Akira and smiles. “I think I can manage that role, so long as I have you by my side.”

Akira reflexively smiles back. 

An entire world of Tomoyo Takenakas, problems neatly summarized and analyzed and given perfect solutions. An endless symphony of carefully picked-out notes.

Maruki kisses his forehead, takes his arm, leans in and murmurs something about what else he’s planned for the evening. Akira’s happiness planned just as thoughtfully as anyone else’s, perhaps even more so.

Were there only two paths for Tomoyo Takenaka?

Is there only one for Akira?

But the questions go unanswered, by Maruki or by anyone.

\---

When the team returns to Maruki’s Palace the next day, Akira’s relieved to find his clothes transform again. Maruki must’ve done something. Nobody comments on it, because nobody besides Akechi would even know, and Akechi doesn’t seem to have told anyone.

Trying to finish almost all of a Palace in one day is always an exhausting effort. But Akira’s got a lot of supplies to burn through and nine other people to switch out, and he wants to get this done as soon as possible.

The others don’t question it, or at least not to his face. Akechi seems to be all for it, even, always snapping at everyone to get a move on, disposing of Shadows with even more ferocity than he did before. 

Though once, Akira hears Sumire whisper, “Are you feeling okay, senpai?” to Akechi, and Akechi snarling back, _“Peachy,”_ so maybe there’s something else going on, but Akira doubts Akechi’s up for a heart-to-heart about it.

Akira still sticks to support. His offensive spells miss as often as they hit, and his dagger is strangely clumsy in his hands, his gun always shooting wide.

Maybe about halfway through, Makoto taps his shoulder and says, hesitantly, “If you really want to finish this Palace today, maybe you should be on the back lines for now.”

He wants to shrug it off and say he’s the leader, it’s his job to be out in front, even support’s needed in the vanguard. But at this point, Makoto’s calling most of the shots anyway, he just hasn’t admitted it yet.

“Yeah,” he says heavily. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Some last dance in the Metaverse. It sits in his stomach like a thick sludge. This is probably the last day he’ll ever spend fighting with the others, and he can’t even really participate.

Maybe it’s better that way. He shouldn’t get attached.

Akira tries to pretend this is like any other Palace. He does. The Shadows don’t talk much about their ruler, which helps. But the cognitions keep going on about how everyone deserves happiness, and it sounds so much like what Maruki tells him.

And the video tapes…

Maruki only gave a brief description of what happened to Rumi. He didn’t say much about her at all, what she’d been like before the attack, where she was now, how exactly they’d broken up. At the time, Akira had been sort of curious, but he didn’t want to pry.

Now it turns out that Rumi was a beautiful, tragic woman and Maruki loved her immensely, and Akira doesn’t know how to feel about that.

The final area of the Palace is almost breathtaking. It seems meant to look like a paradise, and it _is,_ everything verdant and resplendent with a warm, golden glow to it that sinks into Akira’s bones. He wonders if he could come here again with Maruki. The others seem uncomfortable with it, though, and he can’t tell why. Do they not see how beautiful it is?

The only thing marring the beauty is the knowledge that the Treasure is almost within reach. In just over two weeks, they’ll come back here and destroy this place, or try to. All that beauty, gone. 

But Akira’s made his choice, and that won’t happen. 

\---

Akira lies on the bed, secure in Maruki’s arms, head resting against Maruki’s chest. He’s not sure he should ask this question, but Maruki never said he _couldn’t_ ask questions, so…“Can you tell me more about Rumi?” he asks.

Maruki strokes his hair. “Jealous, are we?” he says, amusement coloring his voice.

“No, I just…we saw a lot of stuff about her today, and she seemed really important to you,” Akira says. The tape, the notes, the statues. Maruki’s love for Rumi is writ large across the Palace. “So I wanted to know more about her, if that’s true.”

Maruki kisses the crown of his head. “That’s sweet of you,” he says. “And she is important to me, that’s true. But I’ve come to realize she was more of a…jumping-off point. A catalyst, if you will. She contributed greatly to my motivation, but my views have expanded since then.”

The unease Akira didn’t want to admit to starts to fade. That makes sense.

“Honestly, I don’t even remember that much about her,” Maruki continues. “She must have been a very nice person if I loved her so much, but the specifics have long faded.” He tilts Akira’s chin up, and Akira obediently moves closer. He smiles. “Besides, why would I want to think about her when I’ve got you?”

He kisses Akira, softly, then less softly, and rolls over so Akira is underneath him. “You’re more special to me than she ever was,” he murmurs. “I’ll prove it to you as much as you need.”

Akira automatically yields to Maruki’s mouth and hands, and lets all thoughts of Rumi slip from his mind, or any thoughts at all.

\---

One day, Sumire invites him for lunch.

They eat on the roof, her enormous bento eclipsing his yakisoba bread. When she’s halfway through the second layer, he finds himself asking, “Do you remember anything from when you were asleep in Maruki’s Palace?”

Her chopsticks pause over a piece of tamagoyaki. “Not really,” she says. Her voice is light, casual. “I was asleep, after all.”

“Oh.” It’s a bit of a relief. She would’ve mentioned if she knew about…anything, but he still wondered what it was like, to be in there for a solid week.

“I did dream a little, I think,” she says. “Sometimes there were flashes of me performing at a gymnastics competition, or going on a family vacation with my mom and dad. The perfect life Doctor Maruki wants for me, I suppose.”

When Mementos fully fuses with reality, Sumire will go back to being Kasumi. Maruki seems convinced that’s the best option for her. Akira can’t say for sure he disagrees with that; Sumire was so upset at finding the truth, and even now there are moments where her words stumble when she mentions her sister. 

Sumire’s his friend. So was Kasumi. Akira doesn’t think he’s especially closer to Sumire than he was to Kasumi, except in that she’s part of the team now. Would seeing her the way she used to be have much impact on his life?

“You seem quiet, senpai,” Sumire says, and Akira realizes he hasn’t said anything in a while. “Is something on your mind?”

Akira hesitates. He can’t tell her the truth, obviously. But…well, it would be nice to say _something,_ to get some of the words out of his head.

“Please don’t tell the others about this,” he says, looking to the side.

“Of course,” Sumire says, so much trust in her voice.

He swallows. “I’ve been wondering what life would be like if Maruki succeeded,” he says. 

Sumire takes a deep breath. “Well,” she says, very evenly. “It is understandable that you would think about that.”

Akira looks back up. She’s holding her chopsticks tighter than she was before.

“But whenever I think about it, I remember that Doctor Maruki never _asked_ me if I really thought I would be happier as Kasumi,” she says. “I was very upset during that session, and he didn’t consider if what I wanted at the time would be different if I was in a calmer state of mind. He didn’t even know me, really. He just decided he knew what was best for me based on one interaction. And he seemed very proud of what he did.”

Sumire’s grip on her chopsticks seems almost tight enough to snap them in two. “I don’t think I’m a very angry person,” she says. “But if stopping Doctor Maruki requires us to fight him, I hope you’ll let me get the first strike.”

Her chopsticks stab down and capture the tamagoyaki with enough force it looks like the omelet tears a little. She pops it in her mouth and chews firmly, staring at her lap.

“…I’ll keep that in mind,” Akira says, because it wouldn’t make sense to say _I’m sorry._

Sumire swallows, and looks back up at him. “I apologize,” she says, her face a little red. “I didn’t mean to get so heated.”

“No, it’s fine,” Akira says, shaking his head. “Anger’s important sometimes.”

Sumire’s expression softens, takes a happier tone. “In that case, Akechi-senpai must be doing very well,” she says with a wry smile.

Akira blinks. “I guess he has been kind of moody lately,” he says.

“I don’t know if I’d say _moody,”_ Sumire says thoughtfully. “But he does seem to snap at us a lot. You especially, I think. Is that normal for him? I’m afraid I still don’t know him very well.”

Akira shrugs. “I’m barely familiar with his behavior this month either,” he says. “When I knew him last year, he wasn’t like this at all.”

There’d been traces of a righteous anger, maybe. But nothing like this. Akira wonders if that was an act too, or if it was the real Akechi bleeding through. 

Sumire purses her lips. “It is a bit more excessive than it was when the three of us first went to Doctor Maruki’s Palace together,” she says. “I wonder if I should talk to him. It might be easier for him to share if it’s with someone he doesn’t have any baggage with.”

Baggage. Yeah. “You’re welcome to try,” Akira says. He doesn’t really like that Akechi seems unhappy, but what can he do about it?

Besides what he’s going to do about it in February.

Akechi’ll be happy then.

Akira will, too.

\---

“You’re doing _so_ well,” Maruki murmurs, stroking Akira’s back. “Just a little more.”

Akira gasps into Maruki’s neck, arms wrapped around Maruki’s shoulders. The tentacle curls around inside him, stretching him open more and more, while he trembles on Maruki’s lap.

“I think you’re ready now,” Maruki murmurs, and Akira tries not to tense, tries to keep his body relaxed and pliable and obedient. Maruki said he could handle this. He’s not going to let him down.

Still, a whimper escapes his mouth when the second tentacle presses at his entrance.

Maruki presses a soft kiss to his neck. “You’re fine,” he murmurs. “You’re better than fine. You’re perfect.”

Akira doesn’t feel perfect, trembling and trying not to squirm as the second tentacle pushes in, slow and sinuous and making him feel like he’s going to split open. Even all that stretching wasn’t enough to prepare him. He’s been getting better at dealing with the tentacles; last time he wasn’t nauseous at all, managed to slip back into his head and lose focus for a while, but he can’t do that now, the sensations too overwhelming to push away.

He lets out a sharp gasp as pain twinges inside him. The ache keeps increasing with every centimeter the second tentacle pushes in. 

Maruki continues to rub his back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Just relax.”

Akira’s _trying,_ but he can’t relax when his body keeps protesting so strongly. A bead of sweat trickles down his neck. He hasn’t said a word in several minutes, nothing but ragged sounds and sharp inhales coming from his mouth.

He can’t stop shaking. He grits his teeth, tells himself over and over that he’s _fine,_ he just needs to keep holding out. Maruki’ll be satisfied eventually, and then he’ll just hold him like normal, praise him for doing a good job and pet him until he calms down. He can put up with this, so long as it ends the way it always does.

The second tentacle’s in almost as deep as the first now. They start thrusting together, sending another shock of pain through him; he just clings harder to Maruki’s back and swallows his scream. Maruki would probably worry about him otherwise.

Maruki lightly takes hold of Akira’s cock, rubs a thumb across the tip. “You don’t need to hold back,” he murmurs. “You have a beautiful voice.”

Akira hesitates; then the tentacles _twist_ and he cries out, gasps and keens falling from his mouth as the tentacles ravage his insides. Maruki gives an approving hum and kisses his neck again.

“You’re very brave,” Maruki murmurs, slowly stroking Akira’s cock up and down. “Not everyone could withstand this. I knew your mind and heart were strong, but even your body is too. You really are perfect.”

The mix of pleasure and pain feels like Akira’s body is on fire, heat rising in him even as the agony stabs at his senses. If he clings to Maruki any harder it’ll probably make Maruki uncomfortable, so he doesn’t. He just tries to stay still and lets the sounds Maruki wanted pour from his throat.

The tentacles keep brushing against that spot inside him. It just adds to the mix, makes his stomach curl. The immense, throbbing pressure just keeps _going,_ every second dragging on and on until Akira can’t tell how much time has passed. It can’t have been that long, can it? But it feels like it’s been hours.

He shudders when he comes. Maruki replaces the glove, and whispers, “You can handle a little more, I think,” which is what Akira knew he’d say, but it still sends a curdle of distress down his stomach. He whimpers as Maruki’s hand returns to his cock and the tentacles continue their assault.

His eyes grow wet. He doesn’t know if Maruki would like that, so he blinks furiously, tries to get rid of the moisture before it spills over. 

“You’re so good for me,” Maruki murmurs, stroking Akira’s hair. “I don’t need anyone else as long as I have you.”

 _He needs me,_ Akira tells himself fervently. _He needs me more than anyone else does. No one else wants me the way he does. This won’t hurt as much next time. It’ll be over soon, and then it’ll be good again. He needs me._

Afterwards, Akira feels like he’s been wrung out to dry, all his muscles sore from trembling for so long. Maruki holds him and strokes his back like an owner soothing a frightened pet and murmurs soft, reassuring words that Akira sinks into like a warm bath.

“I knew you could do it,” Maruki says, kissing the crown of his head and smiling. “You always meet my expectations, Kurusu-kun. You’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 _See, no one else says that,_ Akira thinks distantly, his mind and body not entirely connected. _Or at least no one means it as much as he does. He’s always so nice to me. He’s always thinking about me. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t know I could handle it. And I’ll enjoy it eventually anyway, I just have to get used to it._

He can’t help shuddering, though, making Maruki pet his hair and murmur something soft, at the thought of how many times it will take for him to get used to it.

\---

 **Sumire:** I texted Akechi-senpai, and he said this reality’s just frustrating. Which is true, but no one else is reacting as strongly as he does. Maybe he’s just like that. Just everyday Akechi, right?  
**Sumire:** I asked if he would feel better if we went back to Mementos. He said he’d rather not, if you were still going to be “useless”. I thought he liked fighting? Maybe I was wrong.  
**Sumire:** He does seem bored, though, so I offered to visit and talk. Eventually he said that was fine. I’m looking forward to it! I wonder what his apartment looks like.

\---

 **Sumire:** Akechi-senpai’s idea of talking seems to involve a great deal of alcohol. I didn’t stay long.  
**Sumire:** I think he’s really not doing well, senpai. Maybe you should talk to him? He’d probably be more open around you.  
**Sumire:** Oh, I just got a message from him saying not to tell you any of this.  
**Sumire:** But I still think you should talk to him, senpai.  
**Sumire:** Senpai?  
**Akira:** If he doesn’t want to talk I won’t force him  
**Sumire:** I suspect sometimes when Akechi-senpai says he’s not interested in something he is not completely telling the truth.  
**Akira:** I’ll think about it  
**Sumire:** I hope you do. I’m not sure the alcohol I saw was all he had.

Akira doesn’t want to talk to Akechi, the same way he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone. Lately whenever he hangs out with someone they spend the entire time apologizing, which just makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t blame them for what happened. Maybe it was a good thing, even, since it got him closer to Maruki. It might’ve been really bad at the time, but it worked out okay, he thinks.

But he can’t _tell_ them that. So he just listens to them apologize and puts in the right words to make them feel better and waits for enough time to pass that he can go back to Odaiba. 

Akira doesn’t really think Akechi’s the apologizing type. Still, he doesn’t have a reason to talk to him. Maybe if Akechi asked first.

Akira doesn’t really think Akechi would ask first.

\---

Back in his hometown, Akira’s birthday celebrations were pretty standard. Cake, a few friends, presents when he was younger, though fewer when he got older. They were nice days, generally.

Today he stares at the date on his phone and then locks it again, and doesn’t mention it. 

None of the others know, even Morgana, so they won’t call him out on it. He doesn’t want to have any kind of celebration this year, for the same reason he’s been avoiding getting together as a team. One-on-one hangouts are one thing, awkward as they’ve been, but if he spends too much time with the whole group, he starts getting too comfortable. It’s a bad idea for him to get too attached to these versions of them. They’re too flawed like this, too wrapped up in righteous anger or clinging to trauma. He can’t let himself be okay with that.

So he doesn’t tell anyone. He’s not sure he’s really in the mood for a party, anyway.

But that evening, after Maruki kisses him hello, Maruki pulls back and says with a smile, “So, you’re turning seventeen today.”

Akira blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “How’d you know?”

“It was in your school record,” Maruki says. As he leads Akira to the elevator, he asks, “Feel any older yet?”

Akira shakes his head. “I don’t feel any different at all,” he says. “It’s just another day, really.”

Maruki makes a thoughtful sound as the elevator descends. “Perhaps it’s because you’re essentially an adult already,” he says. “You’ve had so much responsibility on your shoulders, it wouldn’t really be fair to put you on the same level as others of your age. Not to disparage teenagers, of course, but at this point I just don’t consider you to be one.”

Akira never really thought about it that way. But he _has_ been through a lot.

Once they’re sitting in the lounge, Akira’s coat, scarf, and glasses off, Maruki says, “Very few people have faced the kinds of troubles you have.” He puts an arm around Akira; Akira automatically rests his head on Maruki’s shoulder. “Even if you weren’t already naturally mature, you’ve packed in enough life experience in the last year to make up for your relative age.” He kisses the crown of Akira’s head. “Seventeen means whatever you want it to. I don’t think it means very much.”

It’s a comfort to hear that, that the reason he doesn’t feel more like an adult is because he’s already there. Plenty of adults deal with stress, anyway; kids don’t have a monopoly on feeling a little overwhelmed sometimes. Adults are probably _more_ stressed, even. Being able to handle it proves he’s mature.

“But regardless of the number, it’d be nice to celebrate at least a little bit,” Maruki says. “Is there anything you want to do tonight? Within reason, of course.”

Akira thinks about it. He’s a little tired, maybe. He’d figured if they had sex tonight he’d try losing focus again, but if he gets a choice, then…“Could you just hold me for a while?” he asks, a little hesitantly. He knows Maruki enjoys sex, he doesn’t want to be difficult.

Maruki ruffles his hair. “Of course,” he says fondly. “That’s your favorite part, isn’t it? You always seem more relaxed then.”

Akira nods, though he’s sort of embarrassed to admit it. People usually enjoy the sex more than the afterglow, right? Maybe he does have some more growing up to do.

But the tension eases from his shoulders anyway as Maruki leads him into the bedroom and takes him into his arms, pets his hair and asks him about his day. Talking quietly and sometimes saying things himself rather than letting Maruki’s words flow over him is a much more calming evening than he was expecting. He feels warm when he goes home, still saturated in comfort, and it takes less time than usual for him to fall asleep.

A pretty good birthday, all in all.

\---

Akira breathes in.

And out. And in. Out. In.

The Palace air is warm on his bare skin. It’s completely silent, except for his breathing and Maruki’s. His school uniform is piled out of the way, neatly folded, glasses resting on top like the pièce de résistance of all the barriers between him and the world. 

He raises his arms above him. Shifts on his feet, waiting.

He doesn’t feel very much when the tentacles slither down to wrap around his arms, or when they come up from the floor to wrap around his legs. The one around his waist is new, though, and so is being lifted into the air, the tentacles keeping him steady as they cut him off from the floor, take over his limbs.

In. Out.

He’s not that far off the floor, really, compared to his usual height. It just feels like it, with the tentacles lifting and separating his knees. Trying to move in their grip is pointless, and he’s not sure Maruki likes it when he does, though Maruki’s never actually said anything about it.

Maruki steps closer, pets his hair. “You’re doing great,” Maruki says, smiling. 

Akira swallows. Maruki likes it when he’s obedient, so he doesn’t say anything.

He stays still and quiet when a tentacle prods at his entrance, though he can’t help breathing a little harder when it starts to nudge inside, the slimy coating oozing onto his skin.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

No matter how familiar the sensation is, nerve endings keep lighting up as the tentacle pushes inside farther. He twitches when it starts to massage against that spot, and Maruki lets out a small laugh, rubs a circle into his back.

“You’re so good at taking these,” Maruki says. “Just another one of your natural talents, I suppose.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His cock is starting to harden. The tentacle thrusts harder, in and out of his body; small, involuntary cries start to fall from his mouth. He closes his eyes, finally cutting off the sight of it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“I think you’re ready,” Maruki says, and because his eyes are closed Akira doesn’t see the second thinner tentacle descend from the ceiling, but he knows it’s coming and he opens his mouth for it.

It goes in slowly at first, slime dripping down his chin. It’s a strange sensation, thicker than a tongue, moving in smoothly. The slime doesn’t taste like anything. Maruki said it wouldn’t.

Breathing gets harder.

Once it’s a few inches in, it starts to thrust.

It’s not big enough that it won’t fit, but it feels massive, forcing his jaw open and plunging into the back of his mouth. The other tentacle thrusts even harder, and now the cries are muffled, even his voice is restrained. 

“Beautiful,” Maruki murmurs, and lightly runs his fingers up and down Akira’s cock.

The sensations are strong enough that it doesn’t take long for Akira to come. He sags in the tentacles’ hold; they keep going, keep forcing their way inside him.

A new glove takes hold of Akira’s cock, bringing it back to hardness relatively quickly. He’s got a pretty fast refractory period. Maruki always says it’s another skill of his.

The tentacle in his mouth pushes down much farther than before, well into his throat. Breathing does nothing to calm him, not when he can barely do it, but Akira distantly remembers biology last year covering the human body, mentioning how past a certain point, the human throat loses sensation. Something to do with keeping digestion comfortable. It’s useful here, because eventually he can’t feel how far it’s going, which helps with the gag reflex. Not that he’s feeling very much anyway. His mind’s drifting, leaving his body to handle all the physical details.

He dimly registers the relative lack of oxygen making his eyes water, tears trailing down his face. A gloved finger wipes them away, and Maruki softly kisses his cheek.

Akira doesn’t remember very much after that.

When he comes back, he’s curled up against Maruki’s chest, lying on the bed. All the slime has been cleaned off. His jaw and lower body ache. He feels raw, flayed open, but it’s more of an observation than something he’s actively participating in.

Maruki’s probably saying something. Akira does feel a gloved hand petting his back, another one carding through his hair. He remembers that that usually feels good.

Maybe Akira’s not entirely back yet.

Does he get in a cab, at some point? He must have, though he doesn’t remember the driver. Or putting his clothes back on. Or the bell over the door in Leblanc. But he’s in bed now, so that must have happened. Morgana’s slumbering next to him. The attic’s much colder than the Palace; he finds himself shivering.

Akira closes his eyes and pulls the blanket over his head to block out the cold. He’s tired, so he should sleep.

He doesn’t dream about anything. But he keeps waking up, that raw feeling tugging at his mind, and eventually he wakes up to bleary morning sunlight, and lies there quietly until his alarm goes off and Morgana bats at his nose.

Then his stomach surges, and he stumbles downstairs just in time to make it to the restroom before he vomits up a torrent of slime. He stays sitting on the restroom floor for a while, shaking in the cold, until he notices Morgana’s worried voice saying he’s going to go wake up Sojiro, and then he manages to open the door and say that it’s fine, he’s just a little under the weather, there’s no need to bother anybody.

His voice comes out as a croak. Morgana already looks bothered. He feels like he’s going to throw up again.

Morgana tells him he should stay home from school today. But that would make Sojiro and Futaba worry. He can keep it together in school if he doesn’t have to talk much. Maybe Ann and Ryuji won’t worry too much if he just tells them he has a sore throat. If he leaves his phone off he won’t notice anyone texting him about lunch. Okay. He can do that.

Maybe he can nap in the afternoon, before he goes to Maruki--

Oh, he’s throwing up again after all.

But he still goes to school. School’s important, after all, even if he’s not sure he’ll still be going after this month. And he can’t worry anyone. Morgana’s bad enough.

He goes to school and for the entire day he doesn’t feel anything at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains statement, though not implementation, of the intent to commit suicide.

Morgana’s noticing something.

Of course he is; he sees Akira more than anyone else does, knows Akira better than anyone besides Maruki does. If Akira had a best friend it’d probably be Morgana. Akira’s going to miss having him around so much. But Mona’ll be happier when he doesn’t have to babysit Akira all the time, anyway, so he probably won’t miss Akira all that much.

Here and now, though, Morgana isn’t happy, because he’s noticing something.

“Are you feeling okay, Akira?” Morgana asks, perched next to the pillow on Akira’s bed. His voice is worried, uncertain. It puts a stone in Akira’s stomach.

It’s Sunday, so Akira doesn’t have to be anywhere today until the evening. Everyone’s already apologized to him, and Mementos requests don’t really mean anything when it’s all going to be solved in a few days anyway, so Akira’s just staying in bed for a while.

“I’m fine,” Akira says automatically. “I’m just a little tired.”

Morgana flicks his tail. “You’ve been tired a lot lately,” he says. “And you were sick a couple days ago. I don’t know everything about humans, but that sounds like you’re still sick, I think?”

“Just stressed about the deadline,” Akira says. What time is it? There’s still light coming through the window. He doesn’t remember how long ago his alarm was.

“You were stressed about all the other deadlines, and it was never this bad,” Morgana points out.

Akira concentrates on putting his thoughts together. It’s sluggish, his brain isn’t moving right, but he comes up with, “The other Palace rulers were all people we hated. I don’t like having to fight a friend.”

That sounds about right, doesn’t it? That sounds like a good excuse.

Morgana settles down next to the pillow, paws curled underneath him. “I know,” he says sadly. “But it’s one of the biggest battles we’ve ever faced. If we don’t do this, the whole world will get hurt.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good excuse. “Not hurt,” Akira says. “Helped.” Was that the wrong thing to say? It’s hard to tell what the right thing to say is these days.

Morgana _humph_ s. “Helped _badly,”_ he says. “Just because someone _says_ they’re helping you doesn’t mean they actually are.”

Which is true, but doesn’t apply to Maruki, so it doesn’t matter. Akira doesn’t feel like arguing. Or doing anything, really. “I know,” he says tiredly, because that’s probably what Morgana thinks he should say. “Can I get some rest, Mona?”

Morgana’s whiskers twitch. _“Can_ you?” he asks. “I know you keep waking up at night. And you’re always tired in the morning.”

Akira closes his eyes and rolls over, faces the wall. He can’t deal with this right now. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says.

“…okay,” Morgana says, and he sounds so worried the stone in Akira’s stomach just sinks further and further.

Akira manages to sleep a little. Time draws out too much, though, makes the bed less comfortable after being in it for so long. Did he eat breakfast? He’s pretty sure Morgana would’ve made sure he ate something. Maybe not lunch, though. 

When Akira sits up, Morgana’s next to the pillow again. Morgana sits up too, tail flicking back and forth.

“Are you feeling better?” Morgana asks.

“Yeah,” Akira says, which might even be a little true. “Were you there the whole time?”

Morgana shakes his head. “I was downstairs for a while,” he says. “You could’ve had lunch if you came down.”

Ah, so he didn’t have lunch after all. “I’m not really hungry,” Akira says.

Morgana narrows his eyes. “You only had a little rice for breakfast,” he says. “I asked Futaba and she says staying in bed all day and not eating is what people do when they’re sick.”

Akira feels a flicker of fear. “Is Futaba worried about me?” he asks.

Morgana just looks sad, now. “I told her I saw it in a movie,” he says quietly.

Oh, good. Mona’s a good friend. Akira’s really going to miss him.

Morgana puts a paw on Akira’s thigh. His eyes are so big and blue, and they look so sad. Mona’s never going to be sad again after this month, though. “If there’s something going on, you can tell me,” Morgana says. “You don’t have to deal with it by yourself. Are you really going to see all those people at night? You always used to bring me with you before you spent time with someone.”

Ohya, secret business with Iwai, sometimes even Lavenza; anything that’d be hard for the others to verify. “You’d get bored waiting for me all the time,” Akira says. “You do enough of that already. You deserve more time to yourself.”

“I _like_ wandering around while you talk to someone,” Morgana says. “It lets me see lots of different places I can’t get to on my own.”

_You’ll be able to go wherever you want soon anyway, so you won’t need me,_ Akira doesn’t say.

There’s only a few days left until the deadline. If he can just keep Morgana from prying for that long, it won’t matter anymore.

“…it’s not dangerous,” Akira says. “It’s just something I have to do by myself. I can handle it.”

“If it’s not dangerous, why is it making you sick?” Morgana asks firmly.

God, Akira just woke up and he already feels tired again. _“Please,_ Mona,” he says. “Drop it. I’ll talk to you about it after the deadline, okay?”

Assuming he’ll ever see Morgana again after the deadline. Morgana won’t need him, so he shouldn’t bother him.

Morgana withdraws his paw. He doesn’t look any happier. “Okay,” he says. “But if you get worse, I’m telling Futaba.”

A small part of Akira curls up. The idea of having to do things that make him look like he’s feeling better is exhausting. Maybe he can eat more? If he chews slowly he probably won’t throw up. Maybe Morgana will think he’s sleeping more if he stays still in bed. He’s getting pretty good at that.

“Sure,” Akira mumbles, and gets out of bed.

And opens his eyes to see Morgana’s face much closer to his, framed by a side view of the bed, crying out, “Akira!”

Akira blinks. His head feels fuzzy. The right side of his body hurts. Oh, he’s lying on it. Didn’t he get out of bed? Right, this is the floor.

“I’m getting Boss,” Morgana says, his voice high and frantic, and starts to run for the stairs.

Akira’s mind blares an alarm; his arm shoots out, grabs Morgana’s leg. Morgana stops, stumbles a little.

Akira lets go, his hand dropping back onto the floor. Morgana turns around to look at him.

“Please don’t tell Sojiro,” Akira says, forcing the words together through the fuzziness in his head. The instinct is bone-deep and desperate. If Sojiro thinks Akira’s sick he won’t let him leave Leblanc. And Sojiro’ll be _unhappy,_ too, will worry about Akira for days, maybe the rest of the week. 

“I know you don’t like bothering people but this is _serious,_ Akira,” Morgana says. “What if it’s something really bad?”

Akira manages to lever himself up into a sitting position. “I got dizzy because I haven’t eaten a lot lately,” he says. “I’ll feel better if I have dinner.” Though just saying it makes his stomach roil.

Morgana’s tail whips back and forth. “At least go see Takemi afterwards,” he says.

That sounds like a bad idea. She’s always been good at telling when he’s lying to her. But Morgana seems really upset, and that hurts worse than his head does. “Sure,” he says. “Just…give me a minute.”

He breathes in, out. Waits for some of the fuzziness to clear before he heads downstairs.

Morgana follows at his heels, still looking nervous. “Hey there,” Sojiro says cheerfully, waving at them from behind the counter. “I thought I heard a thump up there, did you drop something?”

“Some books fell down,” Akira says vaguely. He looks at the curry pot and swallows. “Can I get some dinner?”

“Sure thing,” Sojiro says, and starts dishing up a plate right away.

Akira sits at the counter, Morgana perching on a stool next to him. He brings a spoonful of rice to his mouth. Chews. Manages to swallow.

He looks at the plate. There’s so much on it. Does he have to eat all of it for Morgana to feel better?

He has to go even slower with the curry than the rice; the spices settle uneasily in his stomach. It’s almost gone cold by the time he finishes maybe half the plate, and he knows if he tries any more of it it’s going to end up on the floor.

“Not hungry?” Sojiro asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.

Akira shakes his head. “Sorry to waste food,” he mumbles.

Sojiro waves dismissively. “I’ll put it in the fridge for your breakfast tomorrow,” he says.

Mona’s still staring at him. Right. Takemi. Okay.

Akira doesn’t bother with the bag. Mona’ll just be going right back inside anyway, once he’s done with this.

He manages the walk to the clinic okay. It’s cold out, though, and he keeps reminding himself that after this he can get on the subway and go somewhere warm. He just has to get through this. Then Morgana will feel better and he can go.

When he enters the clinic, Takemi looks up to see him, and her eyes widen. “You look like shit, kid,” she says. “I’m guessing you’re not here to shop?”

Akira shakes his head. “Feeling a little under the weather,” he says. It comes out a little hoarsely.

“Well, let’s get you in the exam room and take a look at you,” she says briskly. 

Morgana stays in the lobby, like he usually does. Akira sits down on the exam table and tries to look less tired.

Takemi sits on the chair opposite and taps a long, black-painted fingernail against her knee. “So what’s up,” she says. Her voice is calm, professional, but there’s a hint of concern to it.

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “It’s probably nothing,” he says. “I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping lately. Uh, and eating, sometimes.”

Takemi purses her lips. “Any recent lifestyle changes?”

Akira shakes his head. “I think it’s just stress,” he says. “But I told a friend I’d see you about it.”

“You do lead a stressful life,” Takemi says with a wry look. “But let’s do a checkup anyway.”

She asks him some more questions; he only has to lie about some of them. She takes his temperature, tests his reflexes, checks his ears and his throat; finally, she draws some blood. “Could be anemia, if you passed out,” she says. “I’ll run some basic tests and call you if anything comes up. If you’re having trouble keeping food down, curry’s definitely out--stick to clear broth, porridge, applesauce, anything simple that doesn’t require chewing and doesn’t have spices or fat in it. Trying to sleep during the day will actually make it harder to sleep at night, so stop doing that.”

She rips a piece of paper off a notepad, scribbles something on it. “Here’s a prescription for sleeping pills,” she says, and rummages in a drawer, brings out a small orange pill bottle. “Only take one per 24 hours, even if you think it isn’t working. Based on what you told me, stress is probably right.” She hands him the paper and the pills; he gratefully takes them.

He breathes a sigh of relief. Morgana’ll believe that, at least.

Takemi sits back in her chair, folds her arms. Gives him a stern look. “So what _aren’t_ you telling me?” she asks.

Akira closes his eyes for a couple seconds. “Nothing,” he says wearily. “I answered all your questions. Can I go now?”

“I’m not stopping you,” Takemi says. “It just seems weird to me that you’re so stressed out _now,_ after all the…” She makes a vague gesture. “Whatever it was that happened last year. Everyone else I see is over the moon lately. What’s changed for you?”

“Just Phantom Thief stuff, I can’t talk about it,” Akira says, and stands up. If she’s not stopping him, he’s just gonna leave.

“I’m just a medical doctor,” Takemi says, and politeness forces him to at least wait for her to finish speaking. “But if you need to talk to someone, I know a few trustworthy therapists.”

Akira feels like he’s going to throw up after all. “I’ve already got someone I can talk to,” he says. “Thanks, Takemi. Have a good night.”

She still looks concerned as he leaves.

In the lobby, Morgana sits up on one of the chairs. “How’d it go?” he asks.

“She thinks it’s stress too,” Akira says. “And I’m feeling better after dinner, honest.”

Morgana’s whiskers twitch. “Okay,” he says uncertainly. “Are you gonna go do your secret mission now?”

Akira manages to crack a smile he doesn’t feel. “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t wait up.”

And he makes his way to Odaiba.

The Palace is refreshingly warm after being out in the cold. Akira takes a few seconds to bask in it, closes his eyes, lets some of the tension flow out of him.

When he opens them, Maruki is walking down the stairs towards him.

Maruki’s smiling, like normal. He’s always happy to see Akira. “Welcome back,” he says. “You still look a little tired.”

Akira swallows, straightens. “I’m feeling better,” he says. “I went to see the doctor in Yongen, she was pretty helpful.”

Maruki takes his hand, laces their fingers together. “Oh?” he says. “What’d she say?”

Akira repeats Takemi’s instructions, though he leaves out the parts he doesn’t want to mention.

“Hm.” Maruki purses his lips. “I suppose that sounds about right. The deadline must be weighing you down a little.”

Akira nods. He’s pretty sure that’s it, anyway. 

Maruki smiles. “In that case, you’ll be back to normal in no time once it passes,” he says warmly. “Another thing to look forward to, hm?”

Akira gives a small smile back. That’s what he’s hoping for. Once everything’s settled and there’s nothing left to worry about, he’ll be fine again. He just has to hold out.

“But let me know if she contacts you about a followup,” Maruki says. “Sometimes doctors overreach, even good ones. I doubt you’ll need to see her again.”

Akira hesitates for a second, but nods again. Takemi did say she’d call him if the tests showed anything. But they won’t, so it doesn’t matter.

“Now, then.” Maruki squeezes Akira’s hand. “I thought we’d shake things up a little. It’s been ages since I went outside, and we’ve never gone on an actual date. Let’s head out, shall we?”

Akira blinks. Maruki, outside? Of course he’s seen him outside plenty of times, last year, but that feels like forever ago. This year, his interactions with Maruki have existed in a bubble, almost exclusively just the two of them. The idea of interacting with him outside of the bubble feels…strange, foreign.

But it means they might not have sex tonight, if Maruki really wants things to be different. And that’s a profound relief. He could handle it, of course, but the curry’s still uneasy in his stomach. He doesn’t want to ruin anything. 

So he says, “Okay,” and follows Maruki back out of the Palace.

Maruki’s clothes change the moment they return to the real world. Not the outfit he wore to school, but the casual one Akira saw him wear whenever they met somewhere else. Brown jacket, blue tie. Hair fluffy again.

Maruki notices Akira looking at his hair, and gives a wry smile. “Is that approval, or disapproval?” he asks.

“It’s just different,” Akira says. The whole look is so different from what he’s gotten used to that it doesn’t feel like the same person. The Maruki who looked like this was a teacher, a friend, not a…whatever it is that they are now. That Maruki had a sort of bumbling charm to him, moments of sheepishness contrasted by firm conviction.

The Maruki Akira knows now doesn’t have any of those little vulnerabilities. Everything he does is deliberate, he never seems like he’s still figuring out how to get where he wants to go. The old Maruki never touched Akira like--

But no, that’s not quite true, is it. The distant memory of a night in November rings in the back of Akira’s mind.

Maruki ruffles Akira’s hair. “Let’s get going,” he says. “Oh, I’ll just take those first.” He removes Akira’s glasses, tucks them into Akira’s coat pocket.

Akira can’t remember the last time he didn’t wear glasses when he was outside. The fireworks festival? That was so long ago. The unfamiliarity of it clashes with the familiarity of not wearing them around Maruki. It’s disconcerting.

Maruki takes Akira’s arm. “I would have suggested dinner, but if you’ve eaten already and you’re on doctor’s orders for something light, I think tea would be a better idea,” he says. “There’s a very nice tea shop nearby.” And he leads Akira even farther out of the bubble, back out into the world where other people exist and other things happen around them.

Akira keeps expecting someone to look at them. Someone to see what it looks like and disapprove, cause a scene. But no one does. The occasional eyes that pass over them don’t react any differently than for the other occasional couples. 

“I told you, this world lets us be,” Maruki says softly. “No one here will bother you about it. We can do whatever we want here.” As if to prove it, he takes Akira’s face in his hand and kisses him. If anyone notices, they don’t comment on it.

When Maruki pulls back, he smiles. “Your face is cold,” he says. “That’s the trouble with going outside in this weather. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

The tea shop isn’t far. It _is_ warmer inside, and so’s the lighting, a comfortable little place with a handful of tables, most of them unoccupied. All the décor is traditional, a wildly different atmosphere from the Palace. A waitress in a kimono bows when they enter.

“Right this way, sirs,” she says, leading them towards an empty table. She hands them two small, laminated menus, and departs.

Akira looks down at the menu. The food would probably sound delicious if he was hungry. There’s plenty of tea, though, and that sounds manageable, probably.

Maruki orders for them when the waitress returns, and she bows again, says their order will arrive shortly, departs once more with the menus.

“The atmosphere here is quite calming,” Maruki says, looking around the cozy interior. “I came here a few times when I worked at Shujin. I thought it would be a nice, quiet place to go, since you’re not feeling well.”

“Thanks,” Akira says. It does seem nice. The few other customers are easy to tune out, like most things are. 

Maruki reaches across the table, takes Akira’s hand in his. Smiles. “Only a few days left,” he says warmly. “You’ll feel better then. Your friends will be happy, and you won’t have to worry about saving the world or fighting against evil or anything that put you in danger ever again. You’ll finally get the rest and care you deserve.”

Rest sounds nice. Akira wonders if he’ll sleep better tonight, knowing that, but he supposes that even if he doesn’t he still has the sleeping pills. 

Maruki talks some more about what the new world will be like. The waitress arrives with their tea; it warms up Akira’s body well enough, and settles easily, though it doesn’t taste like much. 

Akira lets Maruki’s words flow over him. Being out of the Palace for once is a nice break. Even if the lounge looks a lot like Leblanc, there’s something missing from it, something that keeps it from feeling quite real, and the tea shop just looks like itself. Having a few other people around is pleasant in its own way. It feels like a world people live in.

Akira wonders if he’ll be allowed to come back someday.

Time runs out eventually, as it always does, hours slipping away and counting down. Maruki pays the bill and leads Akira back outside, into the bracing cold. Akira can’t help a reflexive shiver.

Maruki notices. “You won’t have to worry about that, either,” he says fondly. “It’s always warm in the Palace. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable there.”

He walks Akira back to the subway entrance, hand in hand. When they arrive, he turns to Akira and says, smiling, “I had a wonderful evening. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” And he kisses him, slowly, methodically.

And a voice as cold as the air says, “And here I thought my opinion of the good doctor couldn’t get any lower.”

Akira’s insides turn to ice.

He turns to see Akechi, not far away, hands clenched at his sides, a bone-deep disdain written across his face. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Akechi look like that, like--like he’s viewing something indescribably vile.

“Akechi-kun,” Maruki says lightly. “What a pleasant surprise. This isn’t one of your usual haunts.”

“I’m still free to go wherever I wish, aren’t I?” Akechi says, his voice tight. “I suppose you think the same, though the places _you’re_ going are far more unforgivable.”

Maruki sighs. “Well, this is regrettable,” he says. “I understand your misgivings, but I’m afraid you’re upsetting Kurusu-kun.”

_“Kurusu-kun_ can speak for himself,” Akechi says. “Assuming you’ll let him. Or have you already convinced him you know what’s best for him? I don’t know why I’m surprised someone who wants to control humanity would have a taste for easier targets.”

Maruki’s jaw slightly tightens, and Akira has a sudden flash of how Maruki deals with problems.

“I’m fine, really,” he says hastily, looking back at Maruki. “Can I deal with this? There’s no need for anything drastic, I can just talk to him. Um, alone. He’ll listen to me. I promise.”

Maruki looks conflicted. “I suppose you know him better than I do,” he says eventually. “And I trust you to do what’s right.”

He kisses Akira on the forehead, and after casting one look at Akechi, he walks away.

_“I’m not finished with you,”_ Akechi snaps, and takes a step towards Maruki.

Akira grabs his arm. “Please,” he says desperately. “That’s not a fight you can win, you _know_ it isn’t.”

Akechi looks at him. Exhales. Pulls his arm back, and doesn’t try to walk any farther.

Akira takes a deep breath. He’s not actually especially sure Akechi will listen to him.

Akechi’s face is twisted in an ugly scowl. “Did he make the first move, or did you think it was your idea?” he asks.

Akira swallows. “It’s not like that,” he says.

“Then what _is_ it like, Kurusu?” Akechi snaps. “Because it certainly _looks_ like the sort of thing I thought the Phantom Thieves were all about stopping.”

That hits, _hard._ “He’s not a bad person,” Akira says, trying to cling to whatever arguments he can. “We were friends before all of this, I know he’s not trying to hurt me.”

“Do you, now,” Akechi says flatly. “I wonder what your definition of ‘hurt’ is, exactly.”

Akira feels a flare of irritation. “I’m not an idiot, I know this kind of stuff is usually bad,” he says. “But this really isn’t like that. If I wanted to stop, he’d let me.”

“Have you tried?” Akechi asks. “Or are you just assuming, because he’s such a _good person?”_

“He wants to _help people,”_ Akira snaps. “All he’s doing is making people happy, there’s nothing evil about that.”

Akechi lets out a bark of a laugh. “Do you even know what a Palace _is,_ Kurusu?” he asks. “They happen because there’s something _wrong_ with someone. A sane, sensible person who only does good things and sees the world as it is can’t _have_ a Palace. Good and evil may be relative, but distortion is irrefutable. Something inside Maruki is twisted, and you know it.”

Push it away, push it away, Akechi doesn’t know everything. Focus on what you can. “Morgana said Persona users can’t have Palaces,” he says. “Maruki’s an exception to that, why can’t he be the exception to something else?”

Akechi’s face hardens. “Morgana’s hardly the expert he pretends to be, and even if you insist on putting a noble spin on Maruki’s brainwashing, you’d have to twist yourself into a pretzel to try and find a moral high ground for an adult fucking a high schooler,” he says coldly.

Involuntarily, Akira’s face heats up. For an absurd moment he wants to say that’s not what’s happening--but of course Akechi wouldn’t believe that. Still, Akechi putting the words into the air makes Akira’s stomach curdle.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Akechi says. “Did he tell you how you’re so special and different from everyone else your age, so it doesn’t matter? Or maybe that you’re close enough to eighteen that you’re basically an adult already?”

Every word is like a knife, stabbing mercilessly into Akira’s chest. But he can’t let it get to him, it doesn’t _mean_ anything, Akechi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Akira shoves away the fear and feels acid boil up in its place, venomous anger ready to spill out. If defense isn’t working, try offense. “What would _you_ know about it,” Akira snaps. “Other people’s relationships aren’t doomed just because no one cares about _you.”_

Up until now, the words have gone back and forth like taking a moment to breathe would be a sign of weakness. But it takes Akechi a solid few seconds before he responds to that.

His posture is stiff, his scowl fracturing like it’s been hit with a physical blow. But his voice is deadly calm. “I spent two years working for some of the worst men in Japan,” he says. “I have seen what happens when an adult decides a young person belongs to them. It _does not end well.”_

And that--

Akira doesn’t have an argument against that.

Moreover, the acid burns as it slips back down his throat. It was a cruel thing to say. It wasn’t even a _true_ thing to say. Akira cares about him, it seems like Sumire at least wants to, Sae probably does--he opens his mouth to apologize.

Akechi looks up at the night sky and gives an utterly humorless laugh. “Not that any of this matters,” he says. “I’ll probably disappear by tomorrow morning anyway, after this. I don’t know why I’m even here to begin with, I’m obviously not needed.”

Confusion flickers in Akira’s mind. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Akechi looks back at him. The anger’s faded; now he just looks tired. “I might as well tell you, since it won’t make a difference,” he says. “I died on Shido’s ship. Maruki must have brought me back to make this world seem more palatable to you. But clearly he was wrong on that front, because you’ve barely even _spoken_ to me. This is the first time in weeks we’ve had anything resembling a conversation, and we’re just yelling at each other. Your perfect world has no place for me. Though it’s not like the old world did either.”

Ice crawls up Akira’s spine. He wants to say that’s impossible. But Akechi never did tell him _how_ he survived, always dodged the question. And Wakaba and Okumura looked so real.

Akechi exhales. “I don’t expect you to understand, beloved as you are by so many,” he says quietly. “But knowing that the only reason you exist is because one person wants you around and then realizing that even they don’t is…difficult to deal with. When this whole disaster started, I thought, at least this means I can see you one last time before it ends. At least I can die knowing that I’m important enough to you to be considered a temptation. But I don’t even get that.”

Akira unsticks his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, in a small voice.

Akechi just looks at him. “I can’t blame you for that,” he says tiredly. “And I don’t blame you for whatever Maruki’s doing to you. But can you at least tell me you’re still planning to steal his Treasure? Or did what I said when we rescued Yoshizawa mean nothing to you?”

Akira remembers it, though not the exact words--something about moral frailty, something about how no one could be perfect enough to control all of humanity without hurting anyone. At the time, they’d hit, they’d made sense. Later, he’d sort of…decided they didn’t make sense after all, because Akechi didn’t know Maruki and didn’t know what he was capable of.

But Akechi’s known a lot of adults, Akira realizes. And he knows even more personally than Akira does how people behave when they have power.

And Akira still hasn’t responded, so Akechi looks to the side, lets out a breath that fogs in the cold air. “I don’t know why I thought the way of things would be any different now,” he says quietly. “It’s always the same story.”

He looks back at Akira. His voice is very calm. “Tell Maruki to erase me,” he says. “If he won’t, I’ll do it myself.”

Akira’s eyes widen. “No,” he says. “You can still live happily in this world, there’s still plenty for you here. I shouldn’t have said what I did. There _are_ people who care about you, I’m one of them, you don’t have to--throw your life away just because I’ve been a shitty friend.”

“Has Maruki told you what sort of life I’ll have here?” Akechi asks. “A safe, happy one, I’m assuming, where my celebrity came from my own merits and my detective work has no strings attached. But I don’t want to be a celebrity. I don’t even really want to be a detective. I don’t know _what_ I want, because I never planned for a life beyond that. But I do know that if by some miracle I was allowed to live past my idiotic plan, I would want to figure it out myself.” His smile is sad and thin. “Maruki would never let me do that. He’d decide that my not knowing means I’d be better off with someone choosing it for me. And I am so, _so_ tired of someone choosing my path for me.

“So please. If there is truly a part of you that cares about me, grant me one mercy. Let me die belonging only to myself, instead of being transferred from one owner to another.”

In the cold night air, silhouetted by a background crowd of smiling strangers, Akechi’s figure stands tall and unmoving. And Akira realizes nothing he can say will change Akechi’s mind. There is no promise he can make, no argument he can attempt, that will overturn the strength of Akechi’s conviction.

It’s profoundly painful--not just to see Akechi so set on dying if it’s the only way he can be free, but to be reminded that Akira’s own conviction is a fractured, flickering thing. Akira’s tried to smooth over the cracks, avoid the things that could fracture it further, but faced with a resolve so unbreakable that it could accept death if it needed to, Akira is forced to see his own will for what it is: fragile, desperate, _pathetic._

Can he still call himself Joker, the way he is now? Can he still claim to be a Trickster? Can he even claim to be Akira Kurusu?

This time, Akechi doesn’t fill in the silence when Akira doesn’t respond. He just waits.

Eventually, Akira says, feeling like his voice is about to crack, “I’ll talk to him.”

Something eases in Akechi’s shoulders. “Very well,” he says. “But if I’m still here on February 3rd, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

It feels like there’s sludge building up in Akira’s chest. “Is this the last time I’ll see you?” he says.

Akechi hesitates. “Most likely,” he says quietly.

Akira remembers that first week, when he’d texted Akechi once and got a curt response, and decided not to try it again; he suddenly wishes he’d kept trying. Even if further rejections just made him feel worse, it would’ve been _something,_ it would’ve been an attempt to reach out to someone he still considers a friend. It would’ve shown Akechi that Maruki’s decision wasn’t entirely wrong. A world where Akechi is alive _is_ a better one. And within a few days, this won’t be that world anymore.

Akechi closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them again. “So allow me a moment of selfishness,” he says, and crosses the remaining steps between them, pulls Akira into an embrace.

It’s not like Maruki’s at all; tighter, almost uncomfortable, like he’s afraid to let go. Like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

Akira realizes that Akechi is shaking a little.

So he wraps his arms around Akechi’s back, rests his head on Akechi’s shoulder. Lets the moment last.

And when Akechi withdraws, it feels like a hole’s been scooped out of Akira’s chest.

Akechi exhales. “Okay,” he says. “If this is the world you want, then I won’t be able to stop you. Attacking Maruki by myself would likely only result in a memory wipe. Whatever your decision is, I hope you make it of your own free will. And if you make the wrong one, I hope I won’t be there to see it.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, gazes at Akira one last time.

“Goodbye, Akira,” he says.

And he turns around to walk into the crowds, and then he’s gone.

Akira remains alone in front of the subway entrance, cold and empty and feeling like he’s messed something up irreparably.

\---

He gets back home eventually.

Morgana curls up on his chest, and he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Remembering, over and over, good times and bad times, until he finally falls asleep.

He dreams about promises, and blood, and a glove he doesn’t remember where he put.

\---

The next evening, wrapped in a soft and gentle embrace, he tells Maruki what happened last night.

“Hm,” Maruki says. “I’m not sure that’s really what he wants. It must be stressful for him to feel isolated like that. But there’s no need to worry.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Akira’s head. “Everything will be taken care of on the night of February 2nd. By February 3rd, he won’t remember any of that.”

Akira doesn’t feel reassured. He still feels empty, and tired, and letting himself sink into comfort doesn’t help as much as it used to.

Akechi seemed so sure of it. It feels like it should be his decision to make, not Akira’s, not Maruki’s. It feels like Akira hasn’t made a decision in a while.

The soft, gentle embrace feels like a stranglehold.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s February 1st, and Akira doesn’t go to school.

After Akira gives in to Morgana’s insistence that he go downstairs and eat something, Sojiro takes one look at him and tells him to stay home for the day. It’s a relief, because Akira really doesn’t want go to school anyway. The world feels smudged, everything crowding together in a blur that Akira has to concentrate to understand. Being surrounded by people and voices and lessons sounds exhausting. 

Morgana made Akira tell Sojiro about Takemi’s orders, so there’s plenty of porridge around, and even some applesauce bought special from the grocery store down the street. It makes Akira feel oily and unpleasant that Sojiro had to buy something he doesn’t usually get, just because Akira’s being more of a burden than usual. 

The porridge sits okay in his stomach, though he only eats about half the bowl. While he’s eating, he happens to glance down at his wrists, and notices the bones there are a little more pronounced than they used to be. He checks again in the mirror; it’s not a lot, but he’s visibly lost weight. The dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. His skin is somehow even paler. He looks like he’s withdrawing back into himself, pulling away a layer at a time. He wonders what’ll happen when there aren’t any layers left.

Then he goes back upstairs, takes his second sleeping pill in less than 24 hours despite Morgana’s protestations, and hits fast-forward on existence until the evening.

Akira doesn’t feel especially awake when he sits up in bed again. Mona’s looking up at him from the floor, just as worried as he’s been for days. The ache of knowing he’s making Mona unhappy sits dully in his bones.

“You got some messages when you were asleep,” Morgana says. “You should check them.”

Akira checks them.

**Ryuji:** hey how r u doin? futaba says ur sick D: lemme know if u wanna do some trainin tmrw, gotta get u back in shape

**Ann:** it’s lunch now, are you feeling better? i’m taking notes for you and i can bring them tonight if you want

**Yusuke:** I witnessed a stunning flower display in a storefront in Shinjuku. Though the composition is lacking, here is a photo. The contrast between the red lilies and black roses is reminiscent of Arsene, is it not?

**Makoto:** I hope you feel better soon. School is important, but so are you.

**Futaba:** sorry i told everyone but i figured they’d wanna know. anyway i got like twelve box sets of featherman if you want a distraction

**Haru:** I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well. If you’re up for receiving visitors, I have some excellent tea blends I would be happy to bring you.

**Sumire:** Keep your spirits up, senpai! I know you’ll get better soon. I’m sure the training we did will help your body heal up right away.

Akira puts his phone down, presses the bases of his palms to his eyes, and breathes.

God, he’s even making them feel bad now. They’ll be so much better off when they don’t have to worry about him anymore.

“Are you going out again?” Morgana says sadly. “If you’re sick you should stay home. You can’t do whatever it is you’re doing if you’re barely awake.”

“I can handle it,” Akira says. “It’s not that hard.” Though if Maruki wants to have sex tonight he hopes it’s a shorter session.

Morgana lowers his head. “There’s only two days until the deadline, you know,” he says. “You’re in bad enough shape already.”

“If I start messing up in battle Makoto can take over again,” Akira lies, because there won’t be a battle, and Makoto won’t need to stress herself out over that.

“But _you’re_ our leader,” Morgana says. “You’ve brought us this far, why can’t you do the big finish?”

Akira exhales. “Sometimes being a leader means making tough decisions,” he says.

When was the last time he felt like a leader? Not when they finished Maruki’s Palace, or their final trip to Mementos. Maybe when they started Maruki’s Palace as a team? Was he faltering even then?

“I know,” Morgana says. “Just…take care of yourself, okay? You’re our friend, too.”

Akira doesn’t know if they’ll even remember him.

He doesn’t know if that matters.

\---

Maruki’s kiss hello takes longer than usual. When they separate, Maruki says, smiling, “Tomorrow’s the day. I know you’re looking forward to it.”

Akira nods. He’s looking forward to not being so tired anymore, to not having to think about anything, to not worrying about how much trouble he’s causing for everyone. 

Maruki pets the back of his head. “Very good,” he murmurs.

When they arrive at the lounge, Maruki says, “I know you’ve been having a hard time recently. That’ll change after tomorrow, of course, but for tonight, I thought I’d take your preferences into account.”

So much weight falls from Akira’s shoulders. Even if it doesn’t feel as good as it used to, being held is so much nicer than sex. It’s really nice of Maruki to think of that.

“I know that during sex I can seem…distant, perhaps,” Maruki continues. “The tentacles are enjoyable, but they’re more a novelty than a substitute for human contact. Since you prefer being close to me, a more intimate act would be appropriate.”

An unpleasant tension rises in Akira’s stomach. What does Maruki mean by that?

Maruki puts both hands on his shoulders, looks deeply at him, smiles. “I’d like to make love to you,” he says gently. “I know, I should’ve done it before, but it seems appropriate for this final night.”

Akira stares. The tension multiplies tenfold. He’s aware of every inch of his body, and it’s all filling up with a strange, nameless feeling.

Maruki pets his hair. “Let’s get started,” he says. “I’ve already got everything we need.”

Akira silently lets Maruki lead him into the bedroom, take off his glasses and coat. They’ve had sex so many times before, it shouldn’t matter. He can handle it. It’ll probably be easier, even, if it’s just a person. The times on Maruki’s lap are usually easier. And Maruki probably wouldn’t come more than once, so it wouldn’t last that long. 

Maruki brushes a kiss against Akira’s lips while he slips his hands up Akira’s shirt, pulls it off of him. “And we’ll feel even closer afterwards,” he murmurs. “Lovers sometimes feel like they’re a single person, a unified existence that happens to be in two bodies. I think that’s a nice idea. I’d very much like to be the other half of your existence.”

Lovers? Is that what they are? Probably. It does feel like Maruki’s a part of him, at any rate. Something entwined in his bones, spreading through his body, sinking tendrils into every inch of him. 

Akira automatically steps out of his shoes. Maruki’s hands skim across his waist, brush against his hips, pull down his pants and underwear with a practiced motion. Akira sits on the edge of the bed, waits for Maruki to take off his socks and finish the job. 

It’s warm enough in the Palace that he doesn’t shiver at being naked. But a part of him shivers, all the same, when he sees Maruki remove his gloves.

Ever since the start of January, Akira’s only briefly seen Maruki’s bare hand, a damp glove removed and quickly replaced. Even when they went outside together, Maruki wore gloves. Ever since the start of January, Maruki’s never touched him without gloves on.

Intimacy. Maruki said this was about that. But then Maruki removes his coat, and Akira doesn’t know why but it all feels so strange, so uneasy. He’s had sex with Maruki almost every day for almost a month, and Maruki’s always been fully dressed. A barrier between them, maybe the only one. 

Maruki takes his glasses off. Even before January, Akira’s never seen Maruki without them.

Maruki smiles as he folds his glasses and rests them on top of his coat. “Weird, I know,” he says. “But I’ve seen you without yours so often, it’s only fair.”

Maruki takes off the rest of his clothes, and then there’s nothing between them, all barriers gone. Isn’t it strange, that Akira’s had sex with Maruki dozens of times but never seen him naked before? Seeing your lover naked for the first time should be exciting, probably. Akira just feels that nameless feeling, coiling unpleasantly under his exposed skin.

Akira shifts backwards on the bed, moves towards the center. Maruki crouches over him. Even though there’s nothing holding him down, it feels like he’s being pinned. He swallows.

“You’ll enjoy this,” Maruki says, smiling, and kneels between Akira’s legs.

Akira stiffens, then forces himself to relax, rests his head back and his arms out of the way as Maruki takes hold of his cock. Still soft, but that changes quickly as Maruki licks the tip.

It’s an entirely different feeling from Maruki’s hand. Maruki’s tongue moves methodically, wet warmth sliding around the head of Akira’s cock and licking up to the base. Akira closes his eyes, can’t help a whimper. It reminds him of the slick tentacles, how they’d sometimes tease the area around his entrance or brush across his lips. His body’s responding, but it’s not a comfortable sensation.

Maruki’s other hand is resting on Akira’s hip, his thumb rubbing circles there. Maruki always seems to think that’ll relax him. Maybe it does when they’re not having sex, or it used to, but those gestures get muddled, associations with a comforting thing and an uncomfortable thing mixing together until even the comfort doesn’t feel safe anymore.

And it’s Maruki’s bare hand, too, warmer than the glove. A stronger point of connection. A foreign, discomforting feeling.

Maruki takes more of Akira’s cock into his mouth. Akira’s breathing gets heavier, a small soft moan falls from his mouth. It still feels good, of course it does. Maruki’s being so careful with him, working his cock gently, making sure not to move too fast or do anything painful. Maruki’s mouth moving back and forth makes Akira’s toes curl and legs tremble. It feels good. Akira reminds himself that it feels good.

But as he spills into Maruki’s mouth with a small cry, it doesn’t feel any different from the other orgasms. A rising crest of sensation, followed by a drop into something hollow and small.

Maruki withdraws with one last lick, then presses a soft kiss to Akira’s inner thigh. Another on his hip, then his stomach; trailing up to his neck, until Maruki’s crouched over him again, looking down at him fondly.

“You always sound so wonderful,” Maruki murmurs. “If I could spend an entire day taking you apart and listening to you respond, I would.”

Akira looks up at him a little blearily. The tension’s rising again, creeping up his spine for what’s about to happen next.

Maruki kisses Akira’s neck, and murmurs, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I was never sure it was the right time, but you’re so close to being mine now. I can’t resist it any longer.”

Akira exhales, closes his eyes again. Counts the seconds, just to have something to put in his mind while he waits.

A small plasticky sound, and then Maruki murmuring, “Just stay relaxed. There you go.”

A slick finger presses against his entrance. Smaller than the tentacles, and harder, more rigid. And warmer; the tentacles were never cold, but human body heat is greater. Even the lube is warmer. Maruki’s finger lightly presses inside, and Akira stays still.

It’s so profoundly different. Akira breathes in, out, can’t quite let his mind drift when the new sensations keep distracting him.

Maruki’s finger curls, goes deeper. Akira’s breath stutters when it brushes against that spot, and Maruki lets out a small laugh, gently massages it.

“You respond well to that,” Maruki murmurs. “Maybe sometime I should just do this, see how many times you can go from just my fingers.”

Akira can feel himself getting hard again from the gentle, insistent touch. It keeps going, another finger slipping in and then another, stretching and massaging with painstaking care, until a stream of soft sounds keeps tumbling from his mouth and Maruki’s fingers finally pull out.

Akira’s body always feels a little empty after a tentacle pulls out. This seems to be no different. 

Maruki kisses him, slowly, carefully, tongue exploring Akira’s mouth like he hasn’t completely mapped it dozens of times before. Akira tastes the faint lingering traces of come, strange and slightly bitter. Do people enjoy that taste? If Maruki expects Akira to do that eventually then he’ll have to get used to it. It seems like more effort than letting a tentacle go down his throat, so it’ll be harder to drift, but maybe if Maruki does most of the movement then he’ll get used to that too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Maruki murmurs. “Having you underneath me is like a dream.”

He kisses Akira’s throat. The hand on Akira’s hip pulls away, and there’s a crinkling sound like foil. Akira counts in his head again. Fills the seconds, wards off thoughts.

Another few moments pass, and the hand rests on his hip again, holds a little tighter. “I’m going inside you now,” Maruki murmurs. “Just stay relaxed. Perfect.”

Something larger and blunter presses at Akira’s entrance. Akira’s breath stills. He keeps counting.

Maruki’s cock enters him slowly, pushing inside a little bit at a time, but it still feels like an unpleasant intrusion. It’s about the same width as the tentacle was, and the thin rubber of the condom feels strange inside him. 

Maruki lets out a low sound as he sinks into Akira. “I knew you’d feel perfect,” he says, his voice low. “So warm and tight. You take me in so well.”

Akira tries to lose focus. But it’s hard, when everything’s warmer, the textures are different, the cock is more rigid than he’s used to, Maruki’s hands on his hips are completely bare, Maruki’s breathing is louder. So much of Maruki’s skin is against his. It feels like he’s surrounded by Maruki on all sides. Nothing’s holding him down, but he feels just as trapped as when the tentacles force him to be still and obedient.

Maruki gently rocks into him, going deeper inside with every thrust, bringing them together even more. “God, you feel so good,” Maruki says roughly. “You’re always so good for me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

The praise brings a twisting feeling to Akira’s stomach. He’s not sure he’s done very much lately that’d make him valuable or important to anyone. Mostly he’s just been sick and quiet and passive. But Maruki seems to like it when he’s quiet and passive, so maybe that’s okay? He probably won’t see the others very often after the deadline, so it’s better to be something Maruki likes, since that’s who he’ll be around.

Akira tries to center himself on that. If he thinks about how Maruki’s enjoying this, that should make it easier. And usually people like having sex, anyway. It’s probably weirder that he isn’t enjoying this as much as Maruki is. If he focuses on being what Maruki wants, maybe the pieces will fall into place and he’ll become that person for real. Carve off the unnecessary parts of himself until what’s left is someone happy.

Finally, Akira can feel focus slipping away. He lets it go, falls back into the empty places in his head, physical sensation dimming. Everything quiets down and softens. It’s almost like being asleep, but better, because he doesn’t dream.

After some amount of time, Akira feels a hand on his face. He blinks, still a little unfocused. Maruki’s looking at him. Saying something? Akira tries to pull back the rest of his senses.

Maruki smiles. “There you are,” he says. “You seemed a little overwhelmed, but you’re better now. I didn’t want you to miss out.”

Akira processes: usually when he comes back it’s already over, but he can still feel Maruki inside him. Not moving, at first, until he is again. A little faster, a little harder. Maruki’s breath is a little heavier. 

He wants to let go again, but it feels like Maruki doesn’t want him to, so he doesn’t. He looks to the side and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long, at least, before Maruki thrusts even harder and lets out a low moan, a faint burst of heat splattering inside Akira. The weight inside him lessens. A hand moves from his hip to his cock, stroking it a few times until he comes too, for the first time against bare skin instead of a glove.

Maruki collapses on top of him, breathing heavily. Eventually, Maruki whispers, “That was everything I dreamed it would be. You really are exactly what I need.”

Akira wonders if he can let go again now. It’s over, so Maruki doesn’t need his attention. 

But Maruki murmurs, “Look at me,” so he does.

Maruki smiles. “I’ll get us cleaned up,” he says, and pulls out of Akira, rolls off him. Akira distantly watches Maruki take a small towel from somewhere and wipe a few drops of come off Akira’s chest, then clean off his hand, and put the towel back wherever it was before removing the condom. It looks kind of weird, a loose see-through tube with some liquid at the bottom. That was inside him? It was nice of Maruki to do that, though, since it means less cleanup. He didn’t have to do that. Akira feels a faint, brief ache of guilt that Maruki sacrificed some of the pleasure just so Akira would be more comfortable.

Maruki ties off the condom and puts it somewhere, and then lies back down on the bed, on his side, facing Akira. He puts an arm around Akira, pulls him in so Akira’s on his side too. Leans in to kiss him, slow and soft, pets his hair.

When Maruki pulls back a little, there’s a tender look in his eyes. “I love you,” he says softly.

That makes sense, Akira supposes. Most of the things Maruki says to him are things you’d say to someone you love. But these words don’t make him feel happy or content or anything, really, besides something distant and cold.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Maruki says, brushing a thumb across Akira’s cheek. “None of this would be possible if it wasn’t for you. The only way I can think to repay you is to take care of you, because that’s what you need, too. You’ve done so much for the world, and now it’s time to rest and let someone else handle everything. I want to be that someone for you. I want to give you everything you deserve, for the rest of your life.”

For the rest of his life.

Akira just has to make it through tomorrow, and then the world will change and everything will be better. He’ll feel better, he’ll be better, he can be everything Maruki wants and he’ll enjoy being that, too. One more day, and then he’ll never feel bad or cold or distant again.

It’s okay that he’s not Joker anymore, because Joker isn’t needed. Joker wouldn’t understand this, anyway. Joker was always fighting, always pushing back; Joker was all sharp daggers and sharper grins, black as night and red as blood, a knife in the heart of anyone who saw people as things, Joker was justice and vengeance and strength and hope, Joker was the spirit of his rebellion tearing out of his soul, Joker was the purest form of him, not peeled away but distilled into a fiery core that burned and burned and would never go out--

And he’ll never be Joker again.

A pressure forms behind his eyes. It builds and builds until it bursts, overflowing down his face. His throat clogs up, his mind sinks beneath a roaring flood.

Maruki pulls him into his arms in an instant, tucking Akira’s head under his chin. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, stroking Akira’s back as Akira’s breath hitches and cracks. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.”

It feels like his chest is gripped in a vise, squeezing out all the air. In his flooded mind, a few scattered thoughts break the surface: he’s trapped, he’s losing something important, he needs to get _out._ He clings to the last one. If he’s out of here, he’ll be able to think properly again. He has to leave. He can’t be here. He has to go somewhere safe.

Akira wrenches himself out of Maruki’s arms and sits up. Maruki sits up too, grabs his shoulders, looks so _concerned._

“I’m worried about you,” Maruki says. “Lie back down and I’ll take care of it.”

Akira shakes his head, tries to pull away, but Maruki’s hold is too strong. “I need to go home,” he sobs, the words sticky in his throat.

“You need to be somewhere you can rest,” Maruki says gently. “And you’re in no state to go outside. You’ll stay here tonight.”

“No, I, I--” Akira’s throat isn’t working right, he can’t get the words out.

Maruki pulls Akira back into his arms, pets his hair. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” he murmurs, smiling. “For now, just sleep.”

Akira tries to protest, tries to pull away, but a wave of absolute exhaustion descends on him from nowhere. His eyes close involuntarily, he feels himself slump in Maruki’s arms.

The last thing he hears before he falls unconscious is Maruki’s voice softly saying, “It’ll be all right. I’ll take care of everything.”

\---

When Akira wakes up, the room is different.

It’s the same size and shape as before, so it’s probably the same one. But the homey brown atmosphere is gone. The walls and ceiling are the same white as the rest of the facility, and even the bed is white, brown wood and blue fabric bleached pure and bright and spotless. From the corner of his eye, he sees what looks like a nightstand next to the bed, a small lamp sitting on top, a dresser on the opposite wall. All white. It melds together in his vision, makes him blink.

The mattress dips slightly. “Good morning,” Maruki says. Akira looks over to the other side of the bed, sees him sitting on it, angled towards Akira and smiling. He’s fully dressed again, not a hair out of place.

“You got a little overwhelmed last night,” Maruki says. He reaches out, brushes Akira’s hair out of his eyes. “I know a big life change can be a lot to take in. It’s understandable you’d need some time to adjust.”

Akira thinks back to last night. Examines the memories clearly. 

Sometimes, after crying, it feels like you’ve emptied yourself out. The emotional overload has taken everything with it, and what’s left is just…quiet.

Akira feels a little like that right now.

“Yeah,” he says.

Maruki’s smile widens. “But I suppose I can’t complain, since it resulted in you staying here,” he says warmly. “You’re even beautiful when you sleep. Of course, I knew you would be.”

Akira sits up in the bed. Realizes he’s wearing clothes. He looks down at the shirt; soft, long-sleeved, buttoned. White. 

“I got you some pajamas,” Maruki says, noticing Akira’s look. “There are more clothes in the dresser, too.” He ruffles Akira’s hair. “Since you’re feeling better, why don’t you get dressed and we can have breakfast?”

Lately it’s been taking a while for Akira to get out of bed, but Akira manages it well enough now. The mattress is a lot nicer than the one at Leblanc, and the blanket larger and softer; after almost a year of the attic, the extra comfort feels strange. And it feels like he’s more…present, in the space, than he has been for a while. Every corner and piece of furniture stands out more. Maybe it’s because he has to concentrate more to make out individual shapes in all the whiteness.

He stands up, idly notes that his pants are white too, and walks to the dresser. Each drawer seems to have several copies of the same items. His own clothes, and his glasses, aren’t anywhere to be seen.

A thin white sweater, white undershirt, white slacks. Comfortable and soft. When he’s done dressing, Maruki looks him up and down with a smile. “A perfect fit,” he says. “I knew they’d look good on you.”

Akira already knows what Maruki would say if he asked him where his old clothes are, so he doesn’t bother.

Maruki leads him out of the bedroom, arm around his waist, and into the lounge, which has also changed to a clean, sterile white, all the couches gone but the one they always sat on, the warm lighting now bright and sharp. There’s a table now, with two chairs, laid out with a traditional breakfast. A bookshelf sits against one of the walls, packed with titles Akira can’t read from this far. The food and the books are the only color in the room, and even the books are just in varying shades of gray.

Maruki pulls out one of the chairs for Akira to sit on, and he does. “Unfortunately, Metaverse food can’t really be consumed by humans,” Maruki says, sitting down on the other chair. “I had this brought in from outside. That’ll change when Mementos fully merges with reality, though, so don’t worry.”

Akira looks down at the food. It smells good, at least. His stomach doesn’t protest at the sight of it. Does that mean he’s feeling better? 

“Thanks for the food,” Maruki says, Akira following just slightly after. They both pick up their chopsticks and start to eat.

It tastes good, too. Did Maruki order it from somewhere? Akira tries to imagine a delivery driver pulling up in front of the Palace, Maruki appearing out of nowhere to pay them. 

Another question comes to mind, though. “Does Morgana know where I am?” Akira asks.

Maruki blinks. “Well, no, of course not,” he says. “I used your phone to message Sakura-san to tell her to tell him that your business was taking longer than you thought and you’d be staying the night with someone you trust.”

“And it’s a school day,” Akira says. “Did you call them too?”

“It’s taken care of,” Maruki says, making a dismissive gesture. “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t need to concern yourself with the details.”

Akira nods, and drops the subject.

The food goes down easy enough. He’s not really surprised, but then, nothing feels surprising right now. Everything just…exists, and he’s part of it, silently observing what’s happening around him. 

The breakfast comes with cups of steaming green tea. Akira sips at it; it’s pretty good.

“I know you’re big on coffee,” Maruki says. “But to be honest, I’ve always preferred tea. I find it more relaxing, not to mention the health benefits. And you hardly need the stimulants anymore, so really, there’s no need for coffee at all. Tea’s a much better choice for you.”

Akira nods. Maruki smiles.

After breakfast, the plates left on the table to be dealt with later, Maruki says, “I’d love to spend the day with you, but unfortunately I have some things left to do before tonight.” He sounds genuinely regretful. “You’re welcome to stay in these rooms, but if you’re still not settled yet, you can explore the Palace for a while. It’s as much yours as it is mine.”

He pats Akira’s head. “Of course, the Treasure room and the exit are off-limits,” he says with a wry smile. “But I doubt I need to tell you that.”

Akira nods. The stairs leading up to the Treasure room were incomplete last time, anyway, so he wasn’t expecting anything. But the garden was nice. He might head there.

Maruki embraces him, tucking Akira’s head over his shoulder. “I’m so happy to finally have you here,” he whispers. “I used to worry that I wouldn’t be able to save you, but now you’re finally safe. Nothing in this place will ever hurt you. I’m so glad you realize that.”

Maruki pulls back, takes Akira’s head in his hands, presses a kiss to his forehead. “You mean more to me than you could possibly know,” he says softly. “Now that I have you, there’s nothing else I need. The perfect reality is almost here, and I want nothing more than to face it with you at my side.”

Almost here. The deadline is tonight. Akira’s not even sure what time it is right now, exactly. There wasn’t a clock in the room, and Maruki hasn’t told him.

Maruki closes his eyes and kisses him, tongue slipping inside easily. Akira closes his eyes, feels Maruki’s arms wrapping around him again, pressing them close together, one hand resting on the back of his neck and one sliding down to the small of his back.

Then Maruki pulls back, exhales. Akira opens his eyes. “Ah, you’re too tempting,” Maruki says with a fond smile. “But I really must be off. I’ll see you tonight. It’s a shame we have to wait to make it official, but that’s hardly important when you’ve already made your choice in all the ways that matter.”

Akira supposes that’s true. He’s here, isn’t he? Nothing from outside can get to him here and send tendrils of doubt into his head; he’s completely safe from any interference, any influence, any factors that might make him hesitate. It’s just him. 

“If you want to see me, tell one of the Shadows and they’ll let me know,” Maruki continues. “I’ll leave you now, while I can still resist the urge to take you back to bed.” He winks, and waves, and leaves in the elevator.

For a minute or so, Akira just stands there.

He plucks at his sweater. It’s not really his style, but Maruki seems to like it, so.

A burst of black particles heralds the arrival of a Shadow in a lab coat, which promptly bows to him before collecting the dishes, bowing again, and disappearing once more. 

Akira walks over the bookshelf, just to see what it has. Mostly nonfiction he doesn’t recognize. History, science. The fiction is all classics. All in all, the sort of things he wouldn’t generally read for himself.

Is he really allowed to explore the rest of the Palace? He supposes it’s not dangerous anymore, if the Shadows don’t attack him. But it seems an unexpected freedom. Surely Maruki would want to keep an eye on him.

Then he remembers the massive security cameras, and decides Maruki’s probably a multitasker.

Akira walks across the room and into the elevator, which brings him back to the foyer just as it has dozens of times before. The crowd of cognitions seems more excited than usual, chattering about how they’re almost about to achieve true happiness, how everything will be better than ever soon, how the future has never been brighter.

Anywhere in the Palace, huh.

He doesn’t remember exactly how many hours it took the team to get up to the garden, but that was with fighting in between, and backtracking for passwords, and that area with the lights. It’ll probably go a lot faster now.

He sets off.

The first Shadow he encounters is another one with a lab coat, looking up from its clipboard with what passes for surprise on a face with few facial features. “What are you doing out?” it asks. “Surely Lord Maruki wants you to be safe in your room.”

“He said I could explore,” Akira says. “I just want to go to the garden.”

The Shadow seems to relax a bit. “Ah, of course,” it says. “Should you require it, we can arrange an escort to aid your return.”

Akira shakes his head. “I’ll manage by myself,” he says. 

“If you’re certain,” the Shadow says. “There’s been a thief problem of late. Your protection is our utmost concern.”

Akira gives a faint smile. “I don’t think they’ll be a problem today,” he says.

“Very well,” the Shadow says, and bows before scribbling something down on its clipboard and departing.

And Akira continues.

It does go faster, now that he doesn’t have to stop and fight, or stop and rest, or stop and talk about what to do next.

But--

_Three Bugs screech in unison as Sumire lights them up with a Makougaon. They all dissolve into black mist, and she turns around, a brilliant grin on her face, saying, “Did you see that, Joker-senpai? I think I’m getting the hang of this!”_

Or.

_“How are we on supplies?” Makoto asks. “I’m down to one bead and a snuff soul.”_

_“Oh, I’ve got some extras,” Haru says, and passes Makoto a handful of ailment cures. “Does anyone else need anything? Joker, how about you?”_

A chair he hid behind, or a corner where he pulled off an ambush. Even though he’s only been here a scarce few times, it feels like every inch of it is plastered with memories.

Still, he manages to walk through them, until something flickers at the corner of his vision. A tiny thrum in the back of his head. He blinks; he’d forgotten all about this, hasn’t needed it for weeks. With the slightest concentration, his focus comes to life.

The set of wooden double doors seems to brighten in his vision. He blinks again, lets the focus fade; he remembers this room, of course, the first tape. The one that showed Rumi.

His eye’s never failed him before. He opens the doors, walks inside.

It looks the same as it did before. Messy, cramped. His eye draws him to the TV, and the tape sitting next to it.

Akira’s already seen it, and he doesn’t really want to see it again. But…

He puts the tape into the player anyway.

When the screen flickers to life, it shows a view of Leblanc’s interior. Akira behind the counter, Maruki sitting on a chair, a plate of curry in front of him.

_“You’re an extraordinary young man, Kurusu-kun. I hope you know that,”_ says the Maruki on the tape, and Akira remembers this.

Not the exact day, or even really the month. But he remembers them at Leblanc together. The gist of the conversation.

_“Thanks, I guess,”_ the TV Akira says, fiddling with a lock of his hair. 

_“Intelligent, charming, thoughtful…”_ Maruki gestures at the plate of curry. _“You’re even a good cook. I’m sure your girlfriend must be very happy.”_

_“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend,”_ Akira says, shaking his head.

_“Really? I thought for sure you were dating Takamaki-san. I must’ve been mistaken.”_

_“Yeah, a lot of people think that,”_ Akira says heavily. 

_“Well, that’s a shame,”_ Maruki says, taking another sip of coffee. _“You’ll find the right girl eventually. I’m sure you have plenty of admirers.”_

The conversation continues a bit before the tape cuts off.

Akira looks at the blank screen. He’s seen Palaces change when the ruler’s cognition was altered, of course. But Rumi was the foundation of Maruki’s distortion. Could she really have been, what, recorded over?

He’s still thinking about it when he arrives at the first query-locked door.

It’s open, since they already unlocked it last time. But he wonders what sort of question it would have now.

_Yusuke sheathes his sword as the Fafnir disintegrates. “A powerful foe,” he declares. “But not so mighty that it could do more than briefly distract us from our mission.”_

_“Speak for yourself, getting whacked in the ribs by that thing’s plenty distracting to me,” Ryuji says with a groan. He tears the plastic wrap off a sandwich and eats half of it in one bite, then looks over and holds out the rest. “Hey Joker, want some? You look like you could use it.”_

Just as his eye hasn’t left him, neither have his acrobatics. Akira finds himself scaling shelves even when the Shadows patrolling underneath him are completely harmless. Bone-deep instincts, hard to shake off.

He arrives at the second TV room.

November, this time. The attic at night. Akira and Maruki standing a few feet apart, talking about…the attic, and Akira’s injuries, and a hospital. Akira looks battered and bruised and, probably, fragile, but Akira remembers that the bruises only lasted so long, and he was back to fighting form soon enough. 

Maruki’s hand on his face. The first time it happened, and the only time Maruki backed away.

Akira continues onwards.

_The Alilat gets in a lucky hit, knocks Ann to the ground, her cry of pain cutting off with a sickening crack as she goes still. “Panther!” Morgana cries, but before he can summon Diego for a samrecarm, the second Alilat blasts him with a bufudyne and he freezes in place._

_“Fire, remember this one’s fire!” Futaba yells from the safety of Al Azif. “Someone get Panther back up! Joker, you’re closest!”_

_A balm of life, hastily applied--and Ann springs back up, roasts the two Alilats onto the floor. She looks back, a grateful smile writ large across her face. “Thanks for the save, Joker!”_

By this point in the infiltration, Makoto had already taken the lead; but they’d all worked together to figure out the answers in the exam room, including him. They did get one wrong, but the resulting fight went well anyway.

Even if he’d forgotten, he wouldn’t have to guess which answers are the right ones now. Maruki’s made it very clear what line of thinking is the safest for him.

The next tape shows a more recent scene, one that sticks in his throat. Him on the blue couch with Maruki, before the lounge first changed its décor. His mask discarded. Maruki’s hand on his. 

He watches his first kiss, and from this perspective he can see his expression; he didn’t realize, at the time, how scared he looked.

Then he arrives at the Twilight Corridor.

It’s beautiful here, all golden light and verdant greenery; he’s lost in memory almost immediately.

_Akechi slams his foot against a vine-covered gate and lets out a disgruntled growl._

_“That won’t help, you know,” Akira says._

_“I know,” Akechi says, scowling. “But forgive me for feeling a little frustrated about being stuck in this--color theory labyrinth.”_

_Akira finds himself smiling, despite his tiredness. “You’re just annoyed you haven’t figured it out yet,” he says._

_Akechi gives him an incredulous look for a moment, but his face straightens out. “Well, you haven’t either,” he says primly. “So we’re still even.”_

As the memory fades, Akira takes in a wider look of the area. The bridges are all extended, the gates are all open; he could walk right through if he wanted--

Instead, he stares, then leans against the outside of the elevator. Slides down it onto the ground. Laughs himself sick.

The giant statues aren’t of Rumi anymore.

When he’s done, he makes his way through the once-frustrating labyrinth without a sound.

The fourth tape room awaits him.

The final tape shows Akira in bed, in the now-white bedroom. He’s asleep, and looks exhausted. Akira remembers that that’s how he still looks, probably, though maybe less tired. Still overly pale, still with dark circles, still a little thinner than he should be. 

Maruki called that beautiful.

On the tape, Maruki sits next to him on the bed, dressed, one gloved hand lightly petting Akira’s hair.

_“You’re finally safe,”_ Maruki says. _“It took so long to get you here, but I’ve finally got you. You’re with me now.”_

He leans down, kisses Akira’s forehead.

_“Just leave everything to me,”_ he murmurs. _“You don’t have to think about anything ever again.”_

The tape ends.

The way to the garden is unobstructed.

Akira sits in the grass there, watches the cognitions blissfully floating into the air or dancing around trees. Golden butterflies glimmering as they fly in lazy circles. An atmosphere of limitless, all-encompassing calm, thick and redolent like honey.

_Do you even see me as a person anymore?_ Akira wonders. _Or am I just a doll you can move around however you want?_

The stairs to the Treasure room are extended up into the sky.

He thinks, briefly, about going there. But Maruki told him not to, of course. 

Still, the fact that he _can…_

Akira spares no final glance as he leaves the garden behind him.

On his way back, he comes across another Shadow in a lab coat, scribbling something on a clipboard.

“Excuse me,” he says. It looks back at him, stilling its pen, and bows.

“What do you require?” it asks.

“I’d like to say goodbye to my friends,” he says. “Do you know if Maruki still has my phone?”

“Your phone is no longer available to you,” it says apologetically. “But if you would like to contact the outside world, perhaps Lord Maruki would be willing to let you use his?”

Akira nods. “That’s fine,” he says. “Can I see him now?”

“Certainly. Just return to the foyer, and he will arrive shortly.”

“Thanks,” Akira says. “Also--”

Akira doesn’t have to wait long once he’s in the foyer.

Maruki walks through the auditorium doors, smiling. “Hello again,” he says. “Couldn’t wait to see me?”

Akira smiles back. “Yeah,” he says. “But besides that, I was wondering if I could borrow your phone for a minute? I just want to send some goodbye messages to my friends.”

Maruki briefly glances at his pocket. His smile dims a little. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says kindly. “It’s better for you to cut ties now, to save yourself the pain of it.”

Akira exhales and looks down. “…yeah,” he says. “That makes sense. But since you’re with me, could I at least leave the building for a minute? So I can say goodbye to the outside. Not leaving the Metaverse, of course, just looking at the city. I’d feel better if you were there with me.”

Maruki’s smile warms up again. “Of course,” he says. “Just for a minute, you understand. It is approaching evening, after all.”

Akira looks back up and nods. “Thanks,” he says. “It’d mean a lot to me to say goodbye while you’re there.”

The air outside the main building is more than a little brisk. Akira looks out at the city, or at least the Metaverse’s version of it. It’s already dark out; from here, Odaiba is lit up by the myriad lights of a city at night, sparkling in the dark like a jewel.

Maruki stands next to him while he looks. “It is pretty, isn’t it,” Maruki says. “I’m glad you’ve realized it’s time for you to let it go.”

Akira nods, putting his hands in his pockets. He takes a deep breath, and turns to look at Maruki.

“Maruki?” he asks.

Maruki smiles. “What is it?”

It was never the clothes that made him Joker.

“It might take a really long time, but someday, I’ll never think about you again,” Akira says.

From one pocket he pulls a scrap of paper, taken from a clipboard, messily scribbled on with a brief message, and shoves it against Maruki’s chest.

As Maruki blinks in surprise and catches the paper, Akira whips around and bolts.

From his other pocket, he quickly pulls the stolen phone, an app already loading for him on the screen.

_This has to work,_ he thinks. _If I’m not right about this, I--this has to work._

Behind him, Maruki cries out, “Kurusu-kun!” but Akira has already made it to the gate, already hopping it with all of Joker’s speed, the white eye on the screen shining large and bright--

And for a single second after he returns to the real world, everything seems to be frozen.

And then, the world shatters.

The very air cracks like glass; from behind him Akira hears a metallic creaking he’s heard so many times before, a building falling apart, unable to sustain itself without the center of its distortion. The Palace collapses behind him as reality collapses around him.

For a second, Akira dizzily thinks, _Mona, you really are barely an expert, you never told me a Treasure could steal itself._

And then he doesn’t think anything at all.

Akira wakes up.

He’s sitting on a cot in a familiar cell. His clothes, he notices, are his school uniform; it’s been barely two days since he last wore it, but it feels like he hasn’t in ages. He touches his face, and discovers that his glasses are back, too.

From the center of the Velvet Room, Igor says, “A daring escape is just as worthy an act for a thief as any theft.”

Akira stands up, leaves his cell. Igor sits behind his desk, Lavenza standing next to it.

Igor looks the same as he always does. Lavenza, though, looks…sad.

“You have made your decision,” Lavenza says softly. “It was under circumstances we did not predict, and wish we could have prevented, but you made it regardless, of your own will.”

“Reality has been restored from its distortion,” Igor says. “All is as it was intended to be. Humanity’s proper course resumes, as do our own duties, though they may be separate from yours.”

“Time rewinds itself,” Lavenza says. “In this true reality, everything that was meant to happen, now has; every false happiness has been undone back to its beginning, and the events of the past month are replaced.”

And Akira remembers--

If Akechi is dead, he didn’t take Akira’s place. When Sae said--

Oh, Akira realizes.

Lavenza looks so sorrowful.

“We thank you for all you have done,” Igor says. “The trials you face next, we cannot help you with.”

“Your fate is unjust,” Lavenza says quietly. “But we know you are strong enough to face it. You have withstood much, and even some things you were never intended to. This, too, you will survive. I promise you this, my Trickster.” Her face turns resolute, her voice turns firm. _“You will survive this.”_

Lavenza bows, and the world fades away.

Akira wakes up.

He’s sitting on a futon, and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. But he sees the walls are a dull white, and the floor tatami. One wall has a small sink attached, and a low partition next to a toilet. A small window in a door on one end of the small room lets in a bare amount of dimmed light from the hall. 

Oh.

The room is utterly silent. 

Akira looks down at his clothes; in the faint light, he can make out the bright orange of a prison jumpsuit. So. This is where he is. This is where he has been, technically, for over a month.

Did he have a trial? He must have. The last time he was arrested, the sentencing happened pretty quickly afterwards, so he only spent a few days in detention total. He didn’t talk much to the other kids there, but he got the impression they weren’t all miserable, at least. And there were some rooms he could go to besides his cell. Has he been sentenced yet? For how long? He tries to look out through the small window, but if there’s a guard, he can’t see him. No answers until morning, most likely.

Until morning, he’s…

The room is silent. No soft sounds of Mona breathing. No warm presence next to him.

Sae didn’t say it, but--he did ask Akechi once, just briefly, a little awkwardly, about what jail had been like, and--

Akechi said it was solitary confinement.

There’s no one here.

Except for whenever the guards decide to visit, there will _never_ be anyone here.

It’s not cold in the cell, but Akira finds himself shaking.

It’s been almost three weeks, he’d forgotten--those days of drifting through the city barely being noticed, briefly seen by one friend and then left again, days when the only thing that kept him functional was--

Akira curls up on his futon and breathes, in, out. In, out. In, out. Too fast, slow down. Slow down. He’s safe, he’s fine, this is better, this is _much_ better. He’s fine. He can do this. Lavenza said he can do this.

His sentence will probably be for _years--_

And for all that time, he’ll be almost completely alone.

Slow down.

Slow down.

Slow down.

It doesn’t slow down.


	7. Chapter 7

The first day of solitary confinement is, technically, the easiest, but only technically.

There’s no clock in Akira’s cell, but sometime in the morning there’s a loud banging on the door, and a slot in it opens up, a tray of food shoved through it. Akira stares at it for a minute or so before deciding to eat it before it gets cold.

It’s a far cry from Sojiro’s curry, or even the breakfast Maruki brought in. But it’s edible, and he supposes that’s the point.

He didn’t get much sleep last night. He’s not sure what time it was when he woke up here; it wasn’t quite evening yet when he left the Palace, but the lights in the hall were already dim. He thinks he got some sleep, probably, because it must’ve been at least several hours between arriving and the guard showing up, and he doesn’t remember being awake for that long.

The hyperventilating did stop at some point, though he doesn’t remember when, either.

Akira’s barely finished eating by the time the guard comes back, banging on the door again and ordering him to put the tray back through the slot. It’s been maybe ten minutes. He does what he’s told, and then…

And then there’s just nothing.

There aren’t any books in his cell. There’s no indication of if he’s going to be let out of it at any point. There’s nothing to do at all, besides sit on his futon and try not to think.

Trying not to think doesn’t go well. Thoughts swirl through his head, sink claws into his mind.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go, all he’s left with is either remembering things that have already happened, or thinking about things that might or might not happen in the future, and neither of those are enjoyable.

Happy memories slip away too quickly, replaced with weeks of sinking numbness, and even when he can barely grasp onto a happy one it gets oily and muddied. God, he was such an _idiot,_ pushing everyone away in exchange for something he didn’t even _like_ anymore. He could’ve spent his last weeks of freedom spending time with his friends, making memories to hold onto, and instead he just let himself sink deeper and deeper into things he can’t bear thinking about. 

Hours pass like that.

At some point, another tray happens. He thinks it’s late enough that it’s probably dinner, not lunch, though in the other detention center everyone got three meals. The food is still okay. The guard still comes back after about ten minutes.

Akira’s doing a pretty good job, he thinks, about not thinking about how that guard is the only person he’s seen that day.

More hours of nothing.

Eventually, the lights go dim, and he hears a guard from farther away shout that it’s time to sleep. So he does, or at least tries to.

In the past few weeks the only time he got a full night’s sleep was--

\---

The second day of solitary confinement is worse.

After breakfast, the door actually opens, a hard-faced man in a guard’s uniform telling him to hurry up and get out. He’s not sure what for, exactly, but it’s still an incredible relief, to have something to _do_ and someone to actually interact with.

The guard doesn’t talk to him, of course, as he leads him down a long corridor of other cells. How many people are in here?

Eventually the guard leads him to a tiled room with several showerheads sticking out of the wall. The guard starts a timer; having no idea how long he’ll get, Akira hurriedly undresses and takes a cold shower, managing to finish before the timer beeps and he’s told to hurry up again. A little over ten minutes, maybe. He takes a scratchy towel from a shelf and dries off quickly, his hair still damp when he gets dressed again and the guard leads him back to his cell.

And then there’s nothing, again.

It’s harder to not think about things. Seeing the guard makes him remember the last time he saw someone. With nothing to distract him, memories of Maruki keep filtering in, a hand in his hair, a hand on his back, what sex feels like, all the things Maruki said to him over and over.

How much of an idiot was he, to think nice words and soft touches made up for anything? He doesn’t know how much Maruki lied about but he was definitely lying when he said Akira was amazing, because Akira feels like a waste of a person. Anything good Akira ever did was because of his friends, not him. The others wouldn’t have been fooled like that. He let himself get trapped because he was _lonely?_ He’s no leader, he’s no hero, he’s a stupid kid who didn’t know what he was doing and almost doomed the entire world because of it.

And Maruki _knew_ that, of course, saw Akira for the easy target he was. If Akira had been smarter none of this would have happened. Maruki might’ve been the one doing it but Akira was weak enough to let him. Makoto would’ve seen through it from the start; Ryuji would’ve just decked Maruki regardless of consequences and ran out of there; Ann--why didn’t Akira talk to Ann about it? _She_ would’ve known what to do. He should’ve asked her.

Even after Akechi tried to force some sense into him, it still took Akira _days_ to figure it out. And Akechi’s dead now. Akechi was miserable for the entire month because he thought the only person who might’ve wanted him around actually hated him, and that’s on Akira. Akechi deserved to have some last days he didn’t hate, and he didn’t, because of Akira.

If Maruki was right about one thing, it’s that the others really were better off without Akira there. Their lives will be much easier without him dragging them down. 

But god, how pathetic is he that he wishes he could see them anyway?

Being _lonely_ got him into this, so it’s only fair he has to deal with that again. And it’s barely been two days, anyway. Any normal person could handle two days without seeing someone. It’s idiotic that he wants to talk to someone, much less people who probably didn’t like him that much to begin with.

Hours and hours and _hours._

\---

The third day of solitary confinement is a nightmare.

Prisoners are allowed to see guests, right? Maybe not a lot. But some, right? Even if the others needed maybe a day to process things, they would’ve been able to find out where he is and try to visit. But it’s been three days, and Akira hasn’t heard anything. So either they _can’t,_ because he isn’t allowed visitors, or they _won’t,_ because they’ve realized he was going to accept Maruki’s reality and they don’t want anything to do with him.

Or maybe they can’t _and_ they won’t, and when he gets out of here someday they’ll say they’re happy they didn’t have the option because they never would’ve used it.

The last time he talked to each of them was probably the last time he’ll ever talk to them. Did he tell them anything important? It was probably just him saying he was busy. It’s not like he spoke a lot in those last few weeks anyway. Of course they’d never want to see him again, they must have decided he didn’t care about them any more either so they should stop bothering. 

He doesn’t remember what his last words were to any of them, besides--right, he talked to Mona, that day before he visited Maruki for the last time. Mona was upset with him for keeping secrets and being a bad leader. That’s the last memory he’ll ever have of Morgana. Ryuji--brushing past him outside class, probably. Futaba--the same, whenever he ran into her at Leblanc. Ann--he thinks maybe Ann tried to talk to him sometimes, in class, but he doesn’t remember an actual conversation, so probably she didn’t try that hard before realizing it wasn’t worth the effort. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Yusuke, or Haru, or Makoto, or Sumire. Akechi--

Thinking about the others makes him feel like there’s a pit inside him, draining every good memory until there’s nothing left. Didn’t he used to think he was good with people? Didn’t he think it was a useful skill, being able to turn himself into what other people wanted? But there’s no one else here and there never will be, and he doesn’t know what kind of person he’s supposed to be now. Is he even a person, really? What’s his personality? He’s only ever been a reflection of what someone else wanted, he doesn’t have any traits of his own.

Maruki was smart enough to see that. He knew he could turn Akira into anything, and Akira wouldn’t even try to resist it. Akira was already a doll before Maruki found him, he just didn’t know it yet.

\---

Akira spends most of his time in his futon.

There’s no place to hang it up to air it out, and the guards haven’t mentioned anything about it, so it’s probably going to get unclean pretty quickly. Or more unclean, at least, because it already has a slight smell to it. Was it ever aired out in the month he’s been here already?

If he sleeps, he can skip through some of the hours. So he tries to do that as much as he can. But sleep doesn’t come easy, and so many hours spent in the futon is starting to make it uncomfortable. He vaguely remembers Takemi telling him sleeping during the day makes it harder to sleep at night. But there’s literally nothing else to do. There’s no entertainment or activity of any kind in his cell. 

He tries exercising, once, hoping that it’ll tire him out. But after a few minutes there’s another banging on the door, and the guard yells at him to stop. He’s not even allowed that. 

He tries to cling to the righteous fury of Joker, but it neither gets him anywhere nor makes him feel any better. He can’t escape, and he can’t fight back, and Joker was always better at protecting others than protecting himself anyway. Or he thought he was; at best he was a catalyst for the others to do their work. All he ever did was offer advice that they could’ve figured out on their own anyway. If they’d seen him for what he was, they would’ve left him months ago, and been better for it.

Even Maruki only saw him as a means to an end. All the nice words were lies, all the touching and sex must have been distasteful. No wonder he never got off until the last time; he didn’t enjoy any of it, was only doing it because it helped draw Akira in. Akira was a convenient way of getting Mementos to fuse with reality, and after that happened Maruki would’ve discarded him without a second thought.

It’s such a _teenage_ thing, to be tricked by sex. He knows better now, but he should’ve known better then; sex isn’t even good, people pretend it’s better than it is so they can take advantage of people who don’t know that. If Akira was so _smart,_ he should’ve figured it out after the first time and not waited for it to get better. It was obvious that Maruki enjoyed seeing Akira confused and in pain. Akira not realizing it must’ve turned him on even more. It’s a wonder Maruki didn’t fuck him earlier, if Akira was so appealingly naïve. Akira was the perfect victim, ready to be used like any other stupid kid but easily convinced that using wasn’t what it was.

\---

It’s at this point that the memory of his last evening with Maruki starts to stick its thorns into his mind.

Remembering it makes him feel like his entire body is coated in a thick, foul oil. Was there any part of him Maruki didn’t touch? There wasn’t even the thin protection of gloves and clothes between them; Maruki’s skin was all over his, marking it up invisibly and irrevocably, staining a canvas already collapsing from overuse. 

_God, you feel so good._

Akira remembers what Maruki’s bare hands felt like on his skin. The loving look in Maruki’s eyes. Being told how perfect and tight and beautiful he was. He buries his face in his arms and tries to block it out, but it keeps sticking, piercing deep into his brain with the memory of every caress and murmur and thrust. 

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

That was Maruki’s favorite word for him. Akira wants to rip out the eyes Maruki said were so striking, tear the skin off the back Maruki always kept a hand on, pull out the hair Maruki liked to pet so much. Anything Maruki liked might be something _other_ people would like, and the thought of anyone calling him beautiful again makes him want to vomit.

Was it his looks that drew Maruki to him in the first place? If he’d been plainer, a random student in the crowd, Maruki wouldn’t have thought twice about him. Instead he was _pretty,_ and bad things always happen to pretty teenagers. A bleeding fish near a hungry shark. A fawn that walks up to a wolf’s den and takes a seat inside because it thinks this wolf is different from all the others.

_You’re always so good for me. You’re everything I ever wanted._

Even his insides are stained. Maruki got into every inch of him, and he’ll never be able to tear it out.

The memory of Maruki inside him roils in his stomach. He moved so _gently,_ like he was trying to be sweet and soothing, or like he didn’t want to break his favorite toy yet. 

Akira stares at the walls and lets himself be swallowed whole by the empty corners of his mind.

\---

The fourth day is a haze.

How many hours are in a day? How many hours are in a week? How many hours are in a year? How many hours can he sleep; how many minutes can he spend eating, or showering, or walking down the hall and back. Almost all the hours are nothing, nothing, nothing, stretching into a span that will never end. 

His thoughts spiral and twist and fray and fall to pieces. When all that’s ahead is nothing, all he has are memories; and the memories gnaw at his consciousness like dogs chewing on a bone long drained of marrow. 

The cold eyes of his friends; the warm voice of Maruki. Hands he can’t reach; hands pressing him into a mattress. 

But even seeing his friends’ scorn would be _something,_ even words slithering into his head and his body left shaking would be _something,_ not the endless endless hours 

if he hadn’t left the palace

he wouldn’t

if he’d stayed and submitted and done what he was told

he

if

if

\---

He doesn’t remember much about the fifth, sixth, and seventh days.

\---

The eighth day is--

Cold, always so cold in here. He can hide under the blanket but the cold won’t go away. The people on the streets around him are quieter now but they still don’t look at him. He doesn’t remember what he did to make them all ignore him but it must’ve been bad. He doesn’t need to check his phone, he knows there’s nothing there. He’s been sitting on the street corner for days and he wants to cry out and see if anyone responds but then they’ll get mad at him for bothering them. And anyway he can’t talk, no one wants to listen to him so there’s no need for it. If he sits here long enough and doesn’t complain about the cold or bother anyone and he’s quiet and obedient and does what’s best for him then maybe eventually someone will take him back to the warm place and------

Cold, always so cold in here. He can hide under the blanket but the cold won’t go away. The people on the streets around him

\---

the ninth day is what did he do wrong? he did what he was supposed to he saved the people he was supposed to he hurt the people he was supposed to he helped the people he was supposed to he was smart he was powerful the people who mattered liked him he was a good person he was a hero he was a trickster he did everything right he wasn’t selfish he wasn’t greedy he tried so hard he did so much what did he do wrong what did he do wrong what did he do wrong

\---

the tenth day is, the tenth day is, the tenth day is, the tenth day is, the tenth day is

\---

on the eleventh day

the guard tells him

new hallway

new room

chair

glass

gray hair

red eyes wide

voice very loud

_he’s not spending another minute in here_

_i have the paperwork for his release i’ll take him out myself_

_hey there. it’s okay. I’m sorry it took so long. You’re go_ ing home

\---

Akira drinks in the sight of Sae Niijima.

She hasn’t told him to stop looking yet, so it must be okay for now. The passenger seat of her car is very comfortable. He’s been here before, he thinks. Everything was a little fuzzy then. Lots of things hurt, too, but that’s the same. Is it the same day, then? No, he thinks that was after one day that hurt, and this was…more than one, he thinks.

Her car hasn’t started yet. It’s still in the parking lot. She keeps glancing at him, then out the window, then the steering wheel, then him again.

She’s talking on the phone. He can’t hear who the other person is. So he’s probably not supposed to, and he shouldn’t think about it.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to see everyone yet,” she says. “I’ll take him to that doctor first. She’ll know more about this. Or at least I hope she does.” She waits. “I know. But I’m not sure he’s even--” She looks at him, then looks out the window. “He’s not himself. I had to tell him to get in the car, I don’t think he knew he was allowed to.” She waits. “I know. I don’t like it either. Once I know he’s safe, I’m going to do my damn job right for once.” She waits. Softer, she says, “I’ll get him home as soon as I can.”

When she finishes the call, she looks at him, then looks out the window. “You’re going to be okay,” she says. “I’m taking you to someone who can help.” He’s still looking at her. She looks at him. Her eyebrows press together. “You don’t have to--” But she doesn’t say what he doesn’t have to do. She looks out the window and starts the car.

The drive is quiet, for the most part. Eventually, she says, not much louder than the silence, “Do you know who I am?”

Akira nods. “Sae,” he says.

A little of the tension in her shoulders eases. “That’s good,” she says. “Do you remember Tae Takemi?”

Akira has to think for a moment. “Doctor,” he says. He thinks he saw her on the day that was like this one.

“Yes,” Sae says. “I’m taking you to see her. After that, I’ll take you home.” She hesitates. “Do you remember who you live with?”

This one, he knows right away. “Mona,” he says.

The corner of her mouth twitches. “I suppose that’s true,” she says. “How about…do you remember who you work for?”

“Sojiro.”

“Right. That was him on the phone. He’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Akira nods. 

Sae exhales. “Am I asking you too many questions?”

Akira shakes his head. They’re easy to answer, so he can do what he’s supposed to quickly.

“Okay.” She doesn’t ask him any more questions for a while, though.

Then she asks, “Why are you looking at me?”

“I can stop,” he says immediately, even though that’s a lot of words at once and maybe he’s not supposed to do that.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, I was just wondering why.”

He takes a moment to try and gather the concepts together. It seems like she wants him to talk, so maybe she’s fine with a lot of words. “Seeing someone feels better,” he says. That’s not entirely it, but saying more about it would take even more words, and he’s not sure he has those.

She frowns. “Do you remember how many days you were in there for?”

Akira has to think about that one, too. But no matter how much he thinks, he doesn’t know the answer. “I don’t know,” he says, the words sour on his tongue. But maybe she knows, and she wants to tell him.

She doesn’t look happier. Maybe she did want him to know. “Do you think it was around two weeks, or over a month?”

A month is a long time. He doesn’t think it was that long. “Not a month,” he says.

She still doesn’t look happier. “Eleven days, then,” she says. “It only took eleven days for this?”

“What’s ‘this’?” he asks, a little hesitantly, because maybe he should know that already.

She exhales. “Nothing, it’s fine,” she says. “You’re doing well. We’ll be at Dr. Takemi’s soon.”

And she doesn’t ask him any more questions after that.

Even with Sae to look at, Akira can’t help but notice the sights outside the windows. Streets, buildings, trees; but also people walking, people in buildings, crowds. All doing whatever it is that they’re doing. They probably don’t even notice the car, much less him. They pass by him, in ones or twos or droves, and every time he accidentally lets his eyes drift to that sight he can feel the temperature dropping.

So he just looks at Sae.

Eventually, they arrive at Yongen-Jaya.

Sae has to park the car just outside of it, since there’s no room, and then Akira’s back in familiar streets. Buildings he’s been in or walked past hundreds of times, now feeling brand new and almost overwhelming in how _much_ any of them are. In the car the streets passed quickly; at walking speed, he’s forced to pay more attention to the lavish details of storefronts, streetlamps, houses. So many colors and probably so many textures, too.

He got out of the car when Sae told him to, but he’s not sure why she looked unhappy about it.

She leads him to the clinic, but doesn’t touch him, not even just a hand on his back. Did he do something wrong? She hasn’t said so, so maybe he hasn’t.

Inside the clinic, Takemi’s eyes widen when she sees him. “Holy _shit,_ kid,” she says, getting up out of her chair. She looks at Sae. “You’ve got a habit of bringing him back in shitty condition, huh,” she says coolly.

Sae exhales. “I wish I didn’t,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s happened to him. He’s been in an adult detention center for over a month, but I’m told that…” She purses her lips. “Well, if you’re familiar with the Phantom Thieves, you might believe it when I say that apparently, mentally he’s only been there for the past eleven days.”

Takemi nods slowly. “Sounds like his kind of bullshit, yeah,” she says. She looks at him. “You remember getting all those bruises?”

Akira blinks. Oh, that’s right. That’s why a lot of things hurt. But he doesn’t remember when that started. He shakes his head.

“I’m afraid he may have some brain trauma,” Sae says quietly. “Mental or physical, I don’t know, but he’s almost nonverbal and won’t do anything unless I expressly tell him to. And he seems to prefer being around someone. I suspect that has to do with being in solitary confinement, though I don’t know why only eleven days of that would have had such a strong effect.”

Takemi’s face hardens. “I see,” she says. She looks at Akira again. “Can you tell me what happened to you in there?” she says.

Akira hesitates. _Can_ he? He doesn’t remember all of it. Most of what he does remember doesn’t involve much in the way of things happening. “I don’t know,” he says.

Takemi takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says. “Get in the exam room and I’ll take a look at you.”

Sae shifts on her feet. “I don’t know how much help I can be,” she says. “Kurusu, would you, ah, feel better if I was in the exam room too?”

Doesn’t she need to keep an eye on him? Maybe she wants Takemi to do that now. Akira remembers that he didn’t always like answering Takemi’s questions, and sometimes her trials hurt, but Takemi’s a good person who helps people. He wouldn’t mind being left to Takemi. “She’s fine,” he says.

Sae nods. “Okay. I’ll stay in the waiting room, then.”

Takemi leads him into the exam room, and doesn’t touch him either.

She gestures him towards the exam table, so he sits down on it. She taps a fingernail against her knee and says, “Can you tell me the first thing you remember from when you woke up in prison?”

Akira tries to think back. “It was night,” he says.

Takemi nods. “Is that all you can remember?”

Akira doesn’t think a lot happened after that. “The next day…” He hesitates, but it seems like she wants him to talk, so probably she’s okay if he says more words. “A guard came by with food. A couple times. That was it.”

Takemi nods and scribbles something down on a

There’s a sound; he blinks, and processes that she’s just snapped her fingers near his face.

“You still with me?” she asks, looking strangely worried. Did he do that? He swallows.

“Yeah,” he says.

She exhales. “Do you remember what just happened?”

He doesn’t know why she wants to know that. “You snapped your fingers,” he says.

The worried look increases. “No, before that,” she says. “What was the last thing I said to you before that?”

He thinks. “You asked if that was all I could remember,” he says.

Takemi closes her eyes, breathes, opens them again. “Okay,” she says, again. “After you answered that question, you were unresponsive for about thirty seconds. Do you know what set that off?”

Akira shakes his head. He didn’t notice anything, but if she says that’s what happened, that’s what happened.

“I see.” And she scribbles on the

Her face is a lot closer again. 

“Can you hear me?” she says.

He nods.

Takemi takes a deep breath, then exhales, and her face smooths into professional blankness. “Either you’re having microseizures, or something I’m doing is setting you off,” she says. “Close your eyes for me.”

He does.

After a few seconds, she says, “Open them again,” and he does.

He can’t tell what’s different about the room, but somehow it feels slightly easier to breathe now.

“I’ve put away something,” she says. She lifts up a notepad, and scribbles a few words on it, watching him.

He waits for her to finish.

“Was that fine just now?” she asks. “Me writing?”

He nods.

Takemi seems to relax a little. “That’s good,” she says. “It doesn’t rule out seizures, but I don’t want to do any more experiments right now if I can help it.”

Akira’s not sure what she did, exactly, but if something was making him unresponsive and she got rid of it, that’s good. He can pay better attention now.

“Now, you said the day after you woke up, a guard came by with food, and nothing else happened,” she says. “What about the day after that?”

He tells her everything he remembers about what happened in the detention center, but, he realizes, it’s even less than he thought he knew. Between the shower on the second day and the time just before he met Sae, he remembers almost nothing.

“Memory loss is common with trauma,” Takemi says. “But you’ve got some nasty bruises on your head that could have led to brain injury, as well. Is it okay if I examine your head directly?” 

He nods. He’s not sure why she’s asking, though, instead of just doing it.

She stands up, and takes a step forward, and puts a hand on his head

Everything goes fuzzy and strange. 

He can’t feel his body anymore. He remembers what Takemi’s doing, and why she’s doing it, but his mind is filling up with cotton and everything seems much farther away than it used to be. 

If he stays quiet and lets her, it’ll stop eventually. And he’ll probably be able to stop thinking about it, too, that’s already started, see, just relax, it always stops eventually, just let go and lose focus and then he’ll

And then he’s lying on his back on the exam table.

Sae’s in the room again. Takemi’s talking to her.

“That’s really all I saw,” Sae says, a thin thread of stress in her voice.

“Then subpoena the fucking guard or whatever,” Takemi snaps. “He was _terrified,_ Niijima, that doesn’t come just from isolation. Something really shitty happened in that prison, and I need to know what it was or diagnosing him is going to be a minefield.”

Sae’s facing his way; she glances at him, and says, tightly, “Kurusu, are you awake?”

He nods.

Takemi turns around to face him. “Can you sit up?” she asks.

He nods, and does so. 

Takemi’s face smooths out again from the previous anger. “That’s good,” she says calmly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Akira thinks. “You were going to examine my head,” he says.

Remembering that sends a throbbing pain through his mind; he winces.

“I started to do that, but you seemed very upset by it,” Takemi says. “And then you were unresponsive again, this time for a few minutes. Do you know why that upset you?”

Akira hesitates. It feels like he should know the answer to that. 

his mind briefly flashes with flickers of a white glove

But whatever the flickers are, his mind papers over them, puts them away, and it quickly disappears from his thoughts.

He shakes his head.

“Examining you is going to be difficult,” Takemi says. “If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, please tell me immediately.” She pauses, then adds, her mouth slightly downturned, “You won’t get in trouble.”

Akira nods.

Takemi turns back to Sae. “You can return to the waiting room,” she says. “But get ready for some notes, because Sakura’s going to need a laundry list of instructions.”

And Sae leaves, and Takemi sits down again, and Takemi says, “Can you stand up and take your shirt off for me?”

He does. The air in the exam room is very slightly chilly, but it’s not that bad.

“Can you take a step towards me?”

He does. She stands up again, walks around him, seems to be looking at his chest and back.

She sits down again. “Severe contusions on most parts of your torso, to go with the ones on your face,” she says. Her voice is very calm.

She asks him to take his pants off, too, and says more things about contusions, and writes something on her notepad.

Then she asks him if he hurts anywhere else, anywhere that wouldn’t be visible from the outside, and he doesn’t, so he tells her no, and she’s still very calm but it seems like a tiny bit of tension drifts away from her.

She tells him to put his clothes back on and sit down again, so he does.

“First off, I want you to know that what I’m about to say is in no way your fault,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it at all, and I’m not mad. But doing a more thorough examination of your body is going to be very difficult if I can’t touch it. I can still test your vision, hearing, and reflexes, and if those are okay, I’m going to release you into Sakura’s custody. As long as you’re physically functional and your guardian knows what precautions to take, I think you’ll be able to manage staying at home with supervision. Unfortunately, I don’t recommend going to school or being by yourself for an extended amount of time. For now, I’ll give you a referral for a

His mouth tastes like apple juice.

A figure sits across from him, in one of the other chairs in the nurse’s office. 

He can’t make out the details of the figure, or what they’re saying. The room feels too hot to be wearing his winter uniform. He has a brief, guilty flash that he’s not paying attention; he’s supposed to be a good listener, he can’t let himself drift off like that. 

The figure pauses whatever they’re saying; he nods, because that’s usually a good gesture to throw in to show that he’s paying attention. The figure seems to approve of that. They stand up, and sit next to him, close to him even though there’s enough space on the blue couch for them to be apart a bit.

They put their hand on his knee, lightly squeezing it, saying something he can’t make out.

The temperature in the room rises even more.

For some reason his heart is beating faster; for some reason his breath keeps sticking in his throat. The figure reaches out, takes hold of his glasses, removes them from his face and drops them on the floor.

The figure’s still saying something. The temperature is still rising. He feels like he’s about to pass out, or maybe throw up, or maybe shatter into a thousand little silent pieces.

The figure leans in, and

He’s lying down again.

His heart’s still beating faster than it should be, he notices, and he can feel a damp trickle of sweat down his neck. Everything seems both close up and far away at the same time. It’s disorienting.

Takemi’s sitting in front of him.

She looks--very unhappy. Something in his chest clenches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out thinner and threadier than it should.

She blinks, as if she’s only now noticed he’s awake. “Thank god,” she says, and then she shakes her head and says, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m not mad at you.”

Akira didn’t expect her to be mad at him, exactly. But he’s not sure what he did expect. Not whatever she’s doing, at any rate, which is sitting up and straightening her face. “What’s the last thing you remember?” she asks.

His head still feels a little fuzzy. It takes him a moment to put it back together. “You said I shouldn’t go to school,” he says.

A tiny frown cracks its way onto her face. “Is there…something about school you don’t like?” she asks, very carefully.

Akira doesn’t think so. Sometimes the homework is annoying, but the other students don’t gossip about him as much anymore. 

His mind papers over a blank space.

He shakes his head.

“Then…” The calmness on her face cracks even more. “Well, fuck,” she says quietly.

“Okay,” she says, a little louder. “Let’s get those tests done.”

Takemi checks his eyes; they’re fine. His hearing, his reflexes, they’re fine. 

When she’s done with all of them, she takes a clear plastic bag from her desk and tosses in a few pill bottles. “Here’s some pain medication, if you need it,” she says. “Plus sleeping pills. Don’t take more than one of those per 24 hours, even if you think it isn’t working. Apply a warm compress to that eye for no more than ten minutes every two hours for the rest of the evening, and tomorrow morning too if the swelling hasn’t gone down.” She scribbles even more down on her notepad, which is looking pretty full. Then she rips off a few of the pages on it and says, “Okay, that’s all I’ve got for now. Stand up and follow me.”

He stands up and follows her out the door into the waiting room, where Sae sits looking at something on her phone. When she sees them, she quickly stands up. She looks unhappy, too.

Takemi raises her palm in a _hold on_ gesture. “I can’t talk about everything right now,” she says. She hands Sae the notes. “Read these, and keep them in mind while you take him to Sakura. Then pass them on to Sakura and make sure he knows not to let anyone visit Kurusu unless they’re willing to follow the instructions to the letter.”

Sae nods. She skims down the notes. Her eyebrows press together.

“I’m out of my depth here,” Takemi says heavily. “I’ll do what I can, but…well, it’s in the notes.”

“I see,” Sae says, just as heavily. “All right. I’ll let you know if anything happens on the way.”

Takemi turns to Akira. “Hey, kid,” she says. “Whatever’s going on, just remember there’s a lot of people who care about you, yeah? You don’t have to deal with this yourself.”

Somehow that doesn’t sound right. But he nods anyway.

Sae leads him out of the clinic and back onto the streets.

It’s a silent walk back to Leblanc. It’s gotten darker, too, though it’s not night yet.

When they arrive, the bell over the door jingles. It feels like he hasn’t heard that sound in months. It feels like the sight of the wooden walls yanks off pressure he didn’t know was there.

There are three people inside; one on a chair, one in a booth, one on the lap of the one in a booth. The first two immediately stand up when he enters; the third hops onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” Futaba says faintly.

Sojiro seems to age years in a few seconds.

Morgana rushes to Akira’s feet. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide and his tail flicks back and forth.

“Before you rush him, Dr. Takemi’s given some ground rules,” Sae says, walking over to hand Sojiro the notes and the plastic bag. “Apparently you shouldn’t read them out loud.”

Futaba picks up Morgana; he looks offended for about two seconds before she holds him so he can see the notes with them. All three of them read silently, faces increasingly grave.

Towards the end of it, Futaba’s face twitches. She and Morgana glance over at Akira. But he doesn’t say anything, and they keep reading.

Sojiro exhales a long, low breath. “Thanks for bringing him here,” he says. He sounds tired. “And for helping get him out of there.”

Sae nods. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. “I’ll be looking into the detention center, and I’ll tell you whatever I find. Prosecuting abuse in the prison system is…difficult, but I’ll pull every string I can.”

“You better,” Futaba says, her voice high and thin. “Or, or I’ll do it myself, or, I’ll do that anyway, I mean--” She takes a deep breath, and says, in a smaller voice, “Thank you.”

“Hopefully I’ll be in touch soon,” Sae says. She looks at Akira. “Take care,” she says softly.

And she leaves, and then it’s just the four of them.

“Well,” Sojiro says, his voice a clear attempt at cheerfulness. “You hungry?”

Akira tries to remember the last time he ate. He doesn’t know what time it is now, or what time the guard brought breakfast, but he thinks it’s been a while. He nods.

“I got some on the stove for you,” Sojiro says, walking back to the kitchen. “Take a load off, I’ll be right over.”

He follows Futaba and Morgana back to the booth. Futaba sits on the opposite side, but Morgana sits next to him. They both keep watching him like they’re not sure he’s really there. He keeps looking back and forth between them, unsure which to focus on.

“Um,” Futaba says. “The notes said--well, the notes said we can’t tell you everything about what they said, but overall they said, um, there’s stuff you don’t like hearing about or seeing. And if we find more stuff you don’t like hearing about or seeing, we should write it down. And that there might be a lot of those things.”

“So, I really hope this isn’t one of them, but we need to ask you,” Morgana says. “How much do you remember about January?”

January?

Akira’s throat is dry. But it seems like he’s allowed to ask questions, if he doesn’t know something. “Which one?” he asks.

Futaba blinks. “Um, the last one,” she says.

The last one. Which was…

Akira realizes he doesn’t know what month it is.

He remembers Christmas. Sae said he was in the detention center for over a month. If it’s been at least a month since Christmas, there must have been a January.

He strains his memory as much as he can, for anything that happened between Christmas and the first day of the detention center.

“It was…cold,” he says. He remembers that. “And…” He frowns, tries to stick together uncooperative thoughts. “Mona wasn’t happy.”

“Of course I wasn’t happy, you were doing something bad and wouldn’t let us help!” Morgana says, his tail flicking, but then he lowers his head and says, “I wasn’t _mad,_ though. I was just really worried.”

Worried isn’t any better. 

“That’s really all you remember?” Futaba presses. “Nothing at all about the last day before you woke up in the detention center? Though I guess that was technically in February.”

The last day.

Before he woke up, something…

A flare, a brief burn of triumph, a last trick that would’ve made Arsene proud.

“I remember Joker,” he says slowly.

Morgana cocks his head. “Well, I’d hope so, since that’s you,” he says.

“No, I think I…wasn’t, for a while.” His mind keeps slipping off the details. 

“You must’ve been in the Metaverse for at least a little while,” Futaba says. “Since you…” She hesitates. “Um, is that a thing we can’t talk about, d’you think?”

Morgana does the cat equivalent of a shrug. “We need to know, though,” he says. 

“I guess.” Futaba doesn’t look at all certain. “Um, Akira? Do you remember stealing a Treasure?”

Akira’s eyebrows press together.

He’s stolen a lot of those, hasn’t he? Was there one in January? They said he was in the Metaverse. But the Metaverse was destroyed. Back on Christmas. On Christmas, he…

Met Sae, who told him he’d have to go to jail, and then…

But he wasn’t in jail after that. Jail didn’t have Morgana in it, so Morgana couldn’t have been there to be unhappy. _Something_ happened in January. Futaba says he was in the Metaverse, and thinks he stole a Treasure.

That flare of Joker--was that it? 

“I don’t know,” he says, because it’s still slipping away like he’s trying to hold too much water in his hands. “Maybe.”

Sojiro comes over with a plate of curry.

“Eat up,” Sojiro says. “Bet they didn’t feed you well in prison.”

“It was okay,” Akira says, because he does sort of remember that. “But not as good as yours.”

“I’d damn well hope so,” Sojiro says, raising an eyebrow.

Akira picks up the spoon, and pauses for a moment. The last time he ate this--he thinks he didn’t like it, actually? 

But he eats it anyway, because he’s supposed to.

It tastes good. He doesn’t know why he wouldn’t have liked it.

While he eats, Sojiro says, “I don’t know half of what you kids ever talk about, but I think pestering him with questions right now isn’t the best idea.”

Futaba looks like she’s about to say something, but then she looks down at the table instead. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “We’ll stop.”

Sojiro hands him one of the bottles Takemi gave him. “You look like you could use some of the painkillers,” he says. “The notes say you don’t seem to have a concussion, but it sure as hell doesn’t look it.”

Akira takes the bottle, opens it, shakes out one of the pills. It’s small, white, ovoid. Takemedic-200. He swallows it, and remembers that they haven’t really used these in a while, not since everyone got strong enough that only beads and healing spells made a real difference. Especially later, with two more people in the team who used strong physical attacks, who needed healing a lot--

Two. Who were they? One was…

But the water slips from his hands once more.

He finishes eating his curry.

When he’s done, Sojiro says, “We should get a warm compress on that eye, too. I’ll go put one together.”

Akira gingerly touches his eye. Takemi mentioned it, too. The brief touch stings; he pulls his hand back.

“You don’t remember any of that, either?” Futaba asks.

“Futaba,” comes Sojiro’s warning voice from the kitchen.

She exhales. “Sorry,” she says.

“It’s fine,” Akira says. 

Sojiro comes back with a warm, damp towel, and hands it to Akira. Akira takes it, presses it lightly over his eye. It still stings, but the warmth feels better than his fingers did.

Ten minutes, Takemi said, so that’s how long Akira waits, Futaba fidgeting on the other side of the booth.

Sojiro takes the towel from him and says, “Now, I think you could use a bath before you go to bed. Me too, honestly. I’ll take you there.”

“I can go there with him,” Morgana protests.

“Um, Mona says he can go there with him,” Futaba translates.

Sojiro raises an eyebrow. “No offense, but I think when the doc said supervision she didn’t mean a cat.”

For once, Morgana doesn’t complain about being referred to as a cat. He just looks to the side and sighs.

The three of them go together, Futaba adjourning to her house. Sojiro pays the fee--Akira almost protests, before realizing that he doesn’t have any money on him anyway.

In the bathhouse showers, Sojiro sees the rest of Akira’s body, and he seems to age another year or two.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with this once, much less twice,” he says bitterly. “Why’d they even put you in an adult prison to begin with? I hope Niijima tears the people responsible to shreds.”

The painkillers are taking effect; the bruises don’t hurt much anymore, even when Akira prods at one on his arm. It stands out harsh and black against his pale skin.

“I’m surprised you don’t have any broken ribs,” Sojiro says, gesturing to the boot print stamped onto Akira’s chest. “Small favors, I guess.”

The water in the bath feels good. Sojiro doesn’t say much, just sits with him. Akira doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

When they leave the bathhouse, Sojiro says, “You can take my bed in the house. There’s no other place to sleep in the attic, anyway.”

Akira’s stomach twists. He opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t want to be a bother, he’ll sleep on the couch.

But Sojiro raises a palm before he can start. “And before you raise a fuss about not being a bother, I’m not budging,” Sojiro says firmly. “You shouldn’t be in a building by yourself, the cat notwithstanding, and you need to get some rest in an actual bed. I can handle the couch for a while. I wasn’t much help getting you out of jail, but I can at least do this for you.”

Akira swallows. “Okay,” he says.

Sojiro nods. “Anything you need from the attic?”

Akira almost shakes his head, before he remembers there probably is something, actually. “Clothes,” he says.

“Right, let’s go get them.”

And they take a few sets of clothes from the hangers that are somehow still untouched after a month, and they make their way into the Sakura house.

Akira doesn’t really know his way around it. He could find Futaba’s room if he needed to, since he’s been there before, but that’s it.

Sojiro leads him to a different bedroom, the décor significantly more subdued than Futaba’s computer cave, accented with little more than a couple old paintings and a few knick-knacks on top of the dresser. “Home sweet home,” Sojiro says. “Bathroom’s across the hall. You need anything, and I mean anything, come get me in the living room, okay?”

Akira nods.

Sojiro looks down at Morgana. “And I guess if it looks like he needs something but he won’t say it, _you_ come get me,” he says wryly.

Morgana nods. “Can do, Boss,” he says.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes.”

Sojiro leaves the room. Akira stands for a moment before putting the folded clothes inside one of the dresser drawers, and sitting down on the bed.

Morgana hops up next to him. “Are you feeling any better after the bath?” Morgana asks.

Akira hesitates. His mind still keeps slipping whenever he tries to think about whatever it is he’s missing. But his body feels better, at least, warmer and cleaner.

“A little,” he says.

Morgana’s tail flicks. “You should get an early night, then,” he says. “Maybe use the bathroom first, though.”

In the bathroom mirror, Akira finally sees his face.

It’s still recognizable. The cuts have scabbed over, and there aren’t that many to begin with; they don’t look very deep, either. He licks at the split on his lip, but the painkillers keep it from stinging. The swelling on his black eye isn’t large enough to impede his vision any. The bridge of his nose is still straight, despite the bruise across it.

It does look worse than last time, though. And last time came with a thrill of adrenaline, the knowledge that he’d just pulled off the greatest and most dangerous heist of his career as a thief. This time he just feels quiet.

He pulls on his sleep clothes and gets into bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Morgana says. “Since, uh, the notes said you probably don’t like to be touched. The carpet’s comfy anyway.”

Something in Akira’s chest seizes. Morgana across the room, too far away to hear; the temperature seems to drop a few degrees. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “You can sleep here.”

Morgana shakes his head. “I really don’t mind it,” he says. “It’s more important that you’re comfortable.”

Akira doesn’t know how to explain the cold feeling creeping in. “Mona, please,” he whispers.

Morgana looks up at him. “…okay,” Morgana says, his voice unsure. “But if you feel bad, let me know.”

Akira nods. Morgana hops up onto the bed and curls into a circle next to Akira’s chest. 

The temperature rises back to normal. Akira’s chest eases. “Night,” he says softly.

“Night,” Morgana replies, and closes his eyes.

Akira stares at the ceiling for a few minutes before he closes his too.

The bed is much more comfortable than the futon in the detention center. Warmer, too. And Mona’s soft, even breathing near his ear feels like the most soothing sound in the world.

He falls asleep easily, and dreams of nothing.

\---

Akira wakes up.

Sunlight streams in through the window. He doesn’t know what time it is. For a few moments, he closes his eyes again, wondering if he can fall back asleep until Sojiro comes for him.

But he should probably be awake when Sojiro gets here, so he opens his eyes again.

An indistinct figure is crouched over him.

Dark, blurry, impossible to make out. It’s not quite straddling him, one leg between his, hands braced next to each of his shoulders. It says something, but the words muddle together in his ears.

His heartbeat pounds against his chest. He can’t move, or he shouldn’t move; he told him to open his eyes, so he shouldn’t close them again. 

The figure caresses the side of his face, brushes his hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t know the words it’s saying, but the tone is soft, warm, gentle, and it turns his stomach to ice.

The figure lowers itself, brings its face close to his.

His chest rises and falls too quickly, his heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest. If he just stays still, it’ll be over eventually. He can do it, he knows how to do that, stay still, stay quiet, it’s not even tentacles this time, it’ll be over faster, stay _still,_ stop _thinking,_ just let it happen just let it happen just let it happen carve off the unnecessary parts of himself until what’s left is nothing nothing nothing nothing

Something soft and furry brushes against his cheek.

The foreign sensation sends a jolt through his brain. Nothing here is furry, is it? Is it something new? Something else he--no, it’s a

the tip of a tail, white and soft and flicking against his cheek

something small and warm and soft is stretched out next to him, something _different_ and

Akira doesn’t mean to, his mind is begging him not to move, but his hand moves on its own and grabs the thing that shouldn’t be there like a lifeline.

It twitches under his fingers, makes a _mrrp_ noise, sleepily says, “Akira?”

And the figure vanishes like smoke.

Akira lies there, breathing too fast, heart beating too fast, and Mona says in a worried voice, “Akira, what’s wrong?” and for a second Akira thinks

_I don’t need to go home, I’m already there_

And opens his eyes again, to see Mona sitting up next to him, blue-eyed and furry and the best thing he’s ever seen.


	8. Chapter 8

At breakfast, Mona sits next to Akira’s leg, leaning against it. Periodically, Akira lowers a hand down to stroke Mona’s head. He’s distantly aware that Mona doesn’t usually like being treated like a cat, but he doesn’t hear any complaints.

Every brief touch against soft fur keeps him centered in the room. Mona was never there, but Mona’s here. Where was there, though?

Sojiro and Futaba sit on other sides of the kitchen table. They’re both talking casually, about things like new blends of coffee or Featherman reruns Sojiro promised to watch with her, but Akira knows they’re keeping him in their peripheral vision, waiting for him to show some sign of…something.

Morgana’s already finished his bowl of canned tuna. Akira eats his rice diligently, but something about the rest of the traditional breakfast is making him uneasy. Sojiro doesn’t complain when Akira finishes the meal without touching it.

Futaba is the first to bring Akira into the conversation. “Feeling any better?” she asks.

Morgana told her about the nightmare, or at least told her that Akira had a nightmare; Akira didn’t go into detail about it. He’s not even sure what it was, really, besides a person and a mess of feelings.

Akira nods. “Mona’s helping,” he says.

Futaba leans over the table to look at Morgana. “Good kitty,” she says approvingly.

Morgana swishes his tail. It brushes against Akira’s leg. “I will accept the compliment,” he says haughtily.

“I should open up the shop soon,” Sojiro says. “If you’d rather be around other people, you can stay in one of the booths, maybe do some reading. Or you can stay in the attic. Most of your stuff is still there.”

Akira thinks about it. He doesn’t really want to watch strangers all day. Just Mona is fine. “The attic,” he says.

Sojiro nods. “Figured you’d say that,” he says. “The doc said to call her right away if anything comes up, by the way. Did you end up using any of those sleeping pills last night?”

Akira shakes his head.

“Probably a good thing,” Sojiro says. He turns to Futaba. “Have the others been making any noise about wanting to see him?”

Futaba nods, and pulls out a phone--two phones. Akira recognizes one of them as being his. “Pretty much constantly,” she says. “They’re trying to be nice about it, though.” She looks at Akira. “Are you up for any visitors later today? You can say no.”

Akira hesitates. Something in the back of his head says--something about disappointment, or anger. “If they want to,” he settles on.

“Do you think it’d be easier if it was just one or two of them?”

Akira shakes his head. It’s not like any of them would feel differently from the others.

“All right then, I’ll let them know,” Futaba says. She passes him his phone. “I held onto this for you. Apparently.”

He takes it. There are…a lot of notifications.

The red eye of the Metaverse is gone. Red? It was always red, wasn’t it?

“And if you have any questions about anything, you can ask us,” Futaba says. “Some stuff we can’t talk about, but it’s better to know _what_ we can’t talk about, right? Even if, um…” She hesitates. “Well, your bed’s still in the attic, in case anything happens.”

Sojiro shoots her a sharp look. “Don’t go provoking anything,” he warns. “We don’t know how severe the reactions can get.”

Futaba wilts a little. “I know, but…if he can’t, um, do the thing he can’t do, how’s he supposed to deal with any of it? Maybe talking to us will be okay.”

Sojiro exhales. “Fine,” he says. “But come get me if anything happens that wasn’t in the notes, or if it lasts over a minute.”

The thing he can’t do. Akira supposes he shouldn’t ask what that is.

He reaches down and pets Mona’s head. Mona nuzzles his hand in response.

They head over to Leblanc.

Akira follows Morgana up the attic stairs.

Morgana shivers. “Man, it’s cold in here,” he says. “We should get the heater out.”

“We, huh,” Akira says, walking over to the assorted pile of things and pulling out the heater.

Morgana’s tail flicks up. “You made a joke!” he says, sounding delighted. “But yeah, no thumbs, remember?”

Was that always true? Something--a gray shirt, a head of black hair over bright blue eyes--

Futaba said he could ask questions.

Akira sits down next to the heater, turns it on. Morgana hops into his lap and curls up.

“Were you…not a cat, for a while?” Akira asks.

Morgana tenses. “Uh, for a little while, yeah,” he says carefully. “In January. Do you remember that?”

Akira pets Morgana absentmindedly, lost in thought. “You slept on the couch,” he says.

Mona’s fur is very soft. “Yeah,” Morgana says. “The bed’s much more comfortable, by the way.”

Akira can imagine. Though it’s not like the bed is incredibly comfortable anyway.

“Do you remember anything else?” Morgana asks.

Akira shakes his head. Even the face of the apparently human Morgana slips from his mind. “Sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Morgana says, and nuzzles Akira’s wrist. “Go at your own pace.”

Akira sits there for a while, Mona warm and softly breathing in his lap. He could do something, probably. The room’s full of things. He could go downstairs if he wanted, see Sojiro.

He takes out his phone. He doesn’t think he’s up for reading all the messages, or hearing any of the voicemails, but he can read some of them, at least.

The group chat is a flurry. He scrolls up without really reading any of it, until he reaches a dead end; the message log only goes back to February 2nd.

**Makoto:** Has anyone had luck locating Akira?

A chorus of negatives, some sorrowful, some frustrated.

**Makoto:** I’ll speak to my sister about it. Let’s meet at Leblanc tomorrow after school.  
**Haru:** Do you think he’s in jail after all?  
**Makoto:** It’s the only explanation. But I have no idea which one.  
**Futaba:** i tried looking for news articles about a trial but there aren’t any  
**Futaba:** it’s like no one even cares what happened to him  
**Yusuke:** We care. We will get to the bottom of this, no matter what.

Akira puts his phone down and just pets Mona for a while.

Eventually he ends up watching a movie. Something he vaguely remembers renting in December and not returning. Does that mean it’s his now? At any rate, he’s seen it before, so he lets the sounds and images flow over him while he sits with Mona in his lap.

And some time after that, he hears Sojiro calling him from downstairs.

“Your friends are here,” Sojiro says. “Come on down.”

Morgana hops off Akira’s lap, and Akira follows him down the stairs.

And downstairs, there’s…

For some reason, it feels like there’s something stuck in his throat.

Everyone’s there, piled into booths and the counter, all looking at him. Excitement turning to surprise or distress.

“Holy shit, dude,” Ryuji says, standing up from a seat at the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Well, judging from Futaba’s messages…” Yusuke murmurs next to him.

“We’re so glad to see you again,” Ann says fervently. “We wish we could’ve gotten to you sooner.”

Akira looks down at Mona. Mona looks back up at him, and then jerks his head towards one of the booths, which still has a seat left in it.

Akira sits down there, next to Futaba, across from Sumire and Ann. Morgana hops up onto the table.

“You all know the rules, right?” Morgana asks.

Everyone nods.

“That’s so effed up,” Ryuji says, his mouth twisting. “It seriously sucks you have to deal with that shit.”

Makoto folds her hands in front of her. “But we’ll help you through it,” she says. “Please, tell us if anything we say is making you uncomfortable.”

Akira just stares at all of them.

It doesn’t feel right. Weren’t they unhappy, before? Mad at him for…something.

Ryuji gestures to Akira’s face. “Does that hurt or anything?” he asks.

Akira shakes his head. “I’ve got painkillers,” he says.

His voice is small and quiet. He’s not sure what he should be saying here, but he can answer questions, at least.

“We understand you’ve been through a lot,” Haru says quietly. “So if you’re not up for answering something, or you think you won’t be able to, you don’t have to.”

Her expression is so _soft,_ so _concerned._ He brushed her off so much, all of them, was so useless the last two times they were together as a team--they shouldn’t be acting like this.

He doesn’t think they’re cruel enough to be joking, though. So they’re just…what?

And--the last two times? When were those?

“Honestly, even if you never remember, we won’t care,” Ann says. “What’s important is that you’re safe. It doesn’t matter what happened, as long as you’re out of that place. Even if--” She hesitates, but straightens her shoulders. “Even if you never get back to the way you used to be, you’re still our friend and we’re still so relieved you’re okay.”

Akira stares. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. They weren’t--they weren’t what? Why weren’t they?

“Um, I think he needs a little space,” Futaba says, glancing at him.

Mona hops into his lap and nuzzles at his chest. Akira automatically pets him, and the world seems a little clearer.

“Oh shit, are we bothering you?” Ryuji says, his eyes wide. “Sorry, dude.”

Are _they--_

“Maybe we should leave,” Makoto says uncertainly. “We don’t want to be here if we’re causing you distress.”

Akira runs his hand down Mona’s back. It’s helping, but it doesn’t solve the central problem.

Mona looks up at him. “If there’s something you want to know, you can say it,” Mona says.

Akira hesitates.

Futaba said he could ask questions.

He swallows, and pushes out words. “…why aren’t you mad at me?” he asks, his voice coming out hoarse and small.

Ann blinks. “Why would we be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” Akira says helplessly.

Or he _does_ know, but he doesn’t know why.

“Are you remembering something new about January?” Makoto asks.

They were in Mementos. Or they were--somewhere? Mementos, but--different?

Akira feels so tired.

But they want to talk to him, so he shouldn’t show that.

“You had to take over for me,” Akira says slowly.

Makoto nods. “We don’t blame you for that,” she says calmly. “Everyone has off days. Or a few off days, even.”

Akira doesn’t have off days. Or at least he didn’t used to. He used to always be on top of things, effortlessly managing a juggling act of thievery, friends, and school; he was proud of himself for pulling it off, even on the days he just wanted to take a nap and stop thinking. He’s not that person anymore. He hasn’t been that person for--a while.

“It’s okay to need help sometimes,” Sumire says. “We all do. Everyone in the world does.” She smiles. “You helped us so much, after all, and I know you don’t think any less of us for that. We don’t think any less of you.”

Akira feels like the world is constricting around him. He wants to believe them, he wants to lean into that seemingly endless support like the sun, but it doesn’t feel _right._

Futaba claps her hands together. “Okay, guys,” she says firmly. “I think he needs a break. Too much at once. It doesn’t have to be all in one day, yeah? We can do this again later.”

Mona nuzzles Akira’s wrist and nods. “I think that’s a good idea too,” he says.

Akira wants to say he can keep doing it, but the idea that he’s allowed to stop now is such a relief he can’t speak.

The others say words of sympathy and farewell, and it’s just him, Futaba, and Mona.

Futaba makes a pushing gesture. “Scoot,” she says. “I need to get out too.”

Akira picks up Mona, and stands up to let Futaba get out of the booth. When she’s out, she wipes her hands together like she’s dusting them off and says, “Okay, I’ll call Sojiro back. You should probably eat something before you go back upstairs, though.”

Akira does feel hungry. He sits down again and waits. The room feels so much bigger and easier to breathe in without everyone else in it.

Sojiro comes back not long after. “Heard you could use some time alone,” he says. “Don’t worry, you can go back to the attic after I get some food in you.”

Food does sound good. Akira eats the proffered curry silently, the warmth of it sinking into his bones. He feels better afterwards, less tired, but still goes back upstairs, Mona in tow.

“You want to watch another movie?” Mona asks. “Or we could go back to Boss’ house if you want an early night. Futaba counts as supervision, I’m pretty sure.”

Akira thinks about it. Now that he’s eaten, he’s not sure he’s tired enough to go to sleep. “Maybe a video game?” he says.

Mona nods. “Excellent idea,” he says. “You never did beat that golfing game. Don’t worry about it if you don’t do too well, though.”

Akira pulls out the game console and the cartridge, and settles back in the chair to play, Mona in his lap.

He ends up beating it after all. It feels good to be okay at something again.

Later, Sojiro calls him back downstairs again, says he’s closing up and they’re heading back to the house. It’s dark out. Akira follows him, and ends up back in the bedroom. Tiredness is weighing him down again, but he thinks it’s more physical, less to do with…everything.

Mona curls up on his chest when he lies down. The weight is warm and familiar, etched into his memory from dozens or hundreds of times.

He absently pets Mona one last time, and falls asleep.

\---

Akira doesn’t have another nightmare.

He has another quiet morning, and then returns to the attic with Morgana, Futaba saying the others are okay with returning after school if he is. He is. They probably have a lot of questions still, and he’s starting to want to know the answers as much as they do.

But maybe some prep would be useful, and there’re several hours before they arrive, so he sits on the bed and looks at Morgana and says, “What kind of questions are they going to ask today?”

Morgana flicks his tail. “Depends on how much you’re up for,” he says. “Are you remembering anything new?”

“Sometimes I think about something and I don’t know where it came from,” Akira says. “How many times did we go to the Metaverse in January?”

Morgana hesitates, but says, “Four. Well, most of us went there four times. You were there one more time, before the rest of us.”

Five times. Akira counts on his fingers. “I wasn’t doing a good job on the last two,” he says.

“We don’t blame you for that,” Morgana says immediately.

“I know,” Akira says. Makoto made that pretty clear. He’s not sure he believes it, but it seems like they’re going to keep saying it, at least. “Did Mementos look different?”

Morgana nods. “It was all white, and the Shadows’ outer forms were different, too.”

The outer forms had--

All white. “Was it only Mementos that we went to?” Akira asks.

Morgana shakes his head. “We only went there once,” he says. “Uh, I’m not sure it’s completely safe to talk about where else we went, though?”

Somewhere white. Five times.

“I think it was more than five times,” Akira says.

Morgana’s tail twitches. “How…many times, do you think?” he asks carefully.

Akira pets Mona’s head. His thoughts are starting to strain at the edges, push too hard against whatever’s holding them, and his head hurts a little. “A lot of times,” he says, and then he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

Eventually, Morgana tells Akira to leave a message in the group chat, saying what he’s remembered. It’s been quiet since yesterday. Akira wonders if that means they started a different one, where they could talk about everything without worrying it’d upset him. He hopes so; it must be hard for them to have to walk on glass all the time.

**Makoto:** Thank you for telling us. If you want to talk about it more, please do, but we understand if that’s all you remember right now.  
**Ann:** yeah there’s no rush! we’ve got plenty of time

The rest of the time passes very quietly.

He’s called down again to join the others, once they arrive, and sits back where he was before, though this time the people sitting in front of him are Ann and Makoto. Futaba still sits next to him.

“How’re you feeling today?” Ann asks.

Akira thinks about it. “I don’t know,” he says. Remembering things earlier tired him out a little, but it’s been a few hours since then, and he didn’t have a nightmare last night. “A little better, maybe.”

“That’s great to hear,” Makoto says, smiling. “Do you think you can handle some more questions today?”

Akira nods.

Futaba pokes his shoulder. “Do you _want_ to handle more questions today?” she asks.

Akira runs a hand across Mona’s back. “I want to be who I was,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how else to do that.”

He used to be so many things, and now he’s just a few things, and they’re not even good things. His memories before January are--not perfect, he thinks, but there’s enough of them that he knows he used to be happy and not tired all the time or scared of things he doesn’t understand, and he wants to be that again. He wants to be _himself_ again.

He remembers that flash of Joker. Was that the last time he was himself? Can he go back to that, if he remembers why he did it?

“Just remember that we’re not trying to push you into anything,” Ann says gently. “We want you to be safe, before we want anything else.”

Akira feels a tiny, tiny flare of--irritation. “Safe isn’t _enough,”_ he says. “If we all only wanted to be _safe,_ we never would’ve become phantom thieves in the first place.”

There’s a pause in the room before Yusuke smiles and says, “Ah, there you go. You _are_ feeling a little better.”

Akira blinks.

A drop of fear curdles in him that he’s said something that’ll make them annoyed--but they all look happier. Ryuji’s grinning. The tension in the room has palpably lessened.

Mona butts his head against Akira’s arm. “Let’s try a couple questions, then,” he says.

Makoto nods. “Right,” she says. She gestures towards Sumire, sitting at the counter. “You seem to know that she’s a phantom thief, so do you remember what her name is?”

“Sumire,” Akira says. It’s an easy question, maybe too easy, so he’s not sure why Makoto is asking it.

Sumire lights up. “That’s right,” she says. “Do you remember when I joined the team?”

Sumire Yoshizawa. Violet. First year, gymnast, joined the team in…October. She awakened to her Persona but--decided not to join. So it wasn’t in October. When was it?

January is the mystery month, so it must have been January. He opens his mouth to say it, but his mind sticks on something, a tiny little jagged outcropping in a blank wall.

_How_ did she awaken?

He and Morgana were the only ones there. They’d already finished Okumura’s Palace, and they hadn’t started Sae’s yet. The only other place it could’ve been is Mementos--but when he thinks about her awakening, he doesn’t think about the dark colors of Mementos. He thinks about white.

A Palace where everything was white. They only fought one Shadow there before retreating, so they didn’t see the ruler.

But that’s all the outcropping gets him.

“January,” he says. “But you awakened in October. Somewhere white.”

Everyone still looks happy, but there’s a slight undercurrent to it now. Anticipation, or maybe fear.

“Do you remember where the white place was?” Makoto asks. Her voice is calm, even.

Akira shakes his head.

“A question for another time, perhaps,” Haru says softly.

Akira _wants_ to remember, and it’s frustrating that he doesn’t. But it just keeps slipping from him.

“My turn,” Ryuji says, from his position next to Sumire. “Do you remember the like, _vibe_ of January? How everybody was feeling?”

Akira has to concentrate. In the back of his mind, a warning rises; there’s something dangerous lurking in the answer. But he wants to know what it is. He _has_ to know.

People smiled a lot. They talked about…good things, mostly. They were enjoying their lives? People do that a lot anyway, but this time it was…more people than usual, the enjoyment stronger than usual. And so many of them smiled--

they smiled as they walked past him in the cold

everyone was happy they were so happy they didn’t need anything they didn’t need _him_ so they didn’t look they didn’t talk nobody _talked_ except except except

Something furry brushes against his face.

He blinks. There’s a weight on his shoulders, and something furry rubbing against his face.

He hears Futaba say, “Are you back?” in a thin, high voice, and he turns his head slightly to look at her. She looks--scared. Her hands are white-knuckled against the table, her shoulders are tight and raised.

His throat feels dry. “Yeah,” he says, a little hoarsely.

Futaba sags in her seat. “Oh, man,” she says. “Guess we kinda forgot about that, huh.”

Akira looks around; everyone’s crowding around the table, some worried, some scared, nobody looking as happy as they were when he was annoyed at them.

Mona settles around his shoulders like a scarf. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, his voice low and nervous and right next to Akira’s ear.

Akira reaches up to scratch behind Mona’s ears. “I’m okay,” he says. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. He doesn’t really remember anything of it, except--

He looks back at Ryuji, who’s standing in front of the table now, seeming close to horrified. “In January everyone was happy,” he says. “But I wasn’t.”

Ryuji’s crooked smile is small and shaky. “Man, it’s just like you to answer the question anyway, even after that,” he says.

“Should I not have?” Akira asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Shit, I’m sorry--wait, hold on,” Ryuji says, and the panic that was rising on his face slides off. “Are you making a _joke_ about it?”

Akira smiles faintly.

Futaba taps something into her phone. “Okay, I’ve noted that one down,” she says. “On the list of, uh, things to avoid. Even if you seemed okay afterwards.”

“Should we stop for the day?” Makoto asks hesitantly. “If it’s getting to be too much for you.”

Akira shakes his head. “We barely started, I want to keep going,” he says. Even if it’s a minefield, even if there’s danger lurking somewhere he can’t see, he wants to _know._

“In that case, um,” Sumire says. “I don’t know if everyone else is very interested in this one, but…” She swallows, and looks him in the eye. “Do you remember what happened to Akechi-senpai?”

Akechi.

The sickening feeling of being on the other side of a wall, unable to save someone who needed it just as much as any other victim they’d helped. Going home and thinking about a glove, and a promise.

He remembers the cold air of the engine room, the harsh words spat through gritted teeth. How helpless he was in the face of someone who chose to die of their own will rather than live imprisoned. If Akechi had just _listened,_ Akira could’ve been able to convince him--there _was_ a place for him, he _could_ have been happy, he didn’t need to die like that. Or maybe Akira’s words could never have been enough. Akechi’s fire burned brighter than Akira’s, even in the cold. Akira’s heart twists at the memory of seeing him walk away, knowing he would never see him again.

Walk away--behind the bulkhead--

The cold air of--the engine room?

Fragments dig themselves out of the corners of his mind, incomplete fractures of a cold, cold night.

_so pl se. if ther tru y a rt of you that c abo t m , gra me ne mer . et me die b ngin onl to mys f, in ead of bei tra ferr fr m one wner to a ther_

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_thirrrrrrrrd_

It’s like there’s a wall above him, and a chunk of brick suddenly crumbles off it, leaving a hole into the sky.

Akechi standing in front of him, silhouetted by a background of passersby and a subway entrance, breath fogging in the cold. The image is sharp and clear as none of Akira’s half-recalled memories of January have been, and he can hear Akechi’s voice like it’s happening now, the furious snarl dropping into a tired, softer cadence, the final words he heard Akechi say, the quiet request for death.

_Is this the last time I’ll see you?_

_Most likely._

The unexpected warmth of an embrace, a shaking body holding onto his like he was the only thing that mattered.

_Goodbye, Akira._

Akechi walking away into the night and out of Akira’s life, forever.

Akechi was alive again, and Akechi is dead again, because--because--

The hole in the wall above him isn’t huge. Akira pulls at the edges of the crumbling brick, breaks off as much of it as he can, bits and pieces falling around his shoulders in a cascade of flickering memories.

Akechi is dead again because------

Because he wasn’t alive to begin with, he was only an------

An actual------

Actualiza----------

“Akechi disappeared when the Metaverse did,” Akira hears himself saying. “He was an actualization, like Okumura and Wakaba.”

Sumire puts her hand to her mouth to stifle a small gasp. “Oh, no,” she whispers.

Everyone looks variously alarmed or confused. “Wait, who wished for _that_ guy?” Ryuji says, incredulous.

“He did have a lot of fans,” Ann says, her eyes wide. “Maybe one of them wanted it?”

Futaba shakes her head. “His fans liked the fakey nice guy act,” she says. “The Akechi we saw in January was way different from that.”

“And besides, a fan wouldn’t have known about the Metaverse,” Yusuke says.

“So, who…” Makoto trails off.

“I did,” Akira says quietly.

Everyone looks back at him, some more surprised than others.

“My ideal world had him in it,” Akira says, even as his head throbs and his chest aches. Mona nuzzles his neck, but he barely feels it. “Or that’s what…”

When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Makoto says, very softly, “Akira, do you remember who made him?”

Large chunks of the wall shatter above him, raining down shards that dig into his mind.

“Yes,” he whispers.

And then he doesn’t think about anything for a while.

He wakes up in his old bed in the attic.

Mona’s on his chest again. Akira idly pats the warm, furry weight, and stares at the ceiling. Everything feels quiet. Outside the window, it’s dark.

Mona stirs and opens blue eyes. “Akira!” he says, coming to full alertness. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, running his hand across Mona’s furry back. “I think.”

“I can, um, I can stay here, but if it’s okay with you I should go downstairs and tell Futaba and Boss you’re awake,” Morgana says.

Akira nods. Morgana stands up and hops off his chest, landing on the floor and running to the stairs.

Akira debates sitting up. Decides he might as well.

A minute or so later, Morgana comes back up the stairs, Sojiro and Futaba close behind.

“Jesus, kid,” Sojiro says, his face pale. “I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Sorry,” Akira says automatically, but there’s less discomfort behind it, less fear that he’s being an inconvenience.

“Not your fault,” Sojiro says; if he can tell Akira meant it differently, he doesn’t make it obvious. Morgana hops back up onto the bed, settling onto Akira’s lap.

Akira glances at the dark sky outside the window. “How long was I out?” he asks.

“A few hours,” Futaba says. Her voice is small again. “Um, Dr. Takemi was here for a while, but then she left and told us to call her when you woke up. So. We should do that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sojiro says. “You feel any better? You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

He feels like he’s been through the wringer. But in a cleaner way, like the quiet emptiness after running out of tears. “I think so,” he says.

“I’ll let her know,” Sojiro says, and goes back downstairs.

Futaba’s fingers bunch and unbunch at the hem of her shirt. “We, we kept waiting for you to come back,” she says, her voice shaky. “But you didn’t, and, and, we didn’t know what to do. You were so pale and you weren’t saying anything and I kept thinking, what if we really messed up, what if we pushed you too much and you weren’t _gonna_ come back, I should’ve noticed it was too much, I thought I was good at noticing but I wasn’t and, and, I should’ve…” She swallows, starting to choke up.

Akira picks up Morgana and holds him out.

After a moment of hesitation, Futaba walks over and takes him. Thankfully, Morgana chooses not to say anything about it, and instead just curls up in her arms and starts purring.

Futaba scratches Morgana behind the ears and gives a tiny, wobbly smile. “How do you keep caring about people so much even when you’re hurting more than any of us,” she says, her voice a little wobbly too.

Akira shrugs. “I don’t think I’d like who I was if I didn’t,” he says.

Who he is. He’s not sure he’s there yet, but…right now, he feels more like a real person than he has in a while.

Futaba wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “You’re so dumb,” she says. “I love you. We all do. I can keep saying it over and over if I need to.”

Akira smiles faintly. “I think I get it by now,” he says.

Even if there’s a part of him that says she’s lying, it’s not a large part.

“Good,” Futaba says, and sniffs. “I’m gonna give Mona back now and then I’m gonna go downstairs because I feel like I need a nap too.”

She hands over Morgana, who gracefully drops back into Akira’s lap. Akira waves to her as she leaves.

“I know you’re not a cat, but if you were, you’d be a really good cat,” Akira informs Morgana, stroking the top of his head.

Morgana flicks his tail. “Obviously,” he says haughtily.

Takemi comes by not long after, bag of medical supplies in tow and Sojiro waiting uncertainly by the staircase. She pulls the wooden chair to the front of the bed and looks at Akira.

“I hear you’re feeling better,” she says. “Which is good, because you weren’t looking so hot a couple hours ago.”

Akira nods. “I remembered a lot of stuff at once, and I think it kinda…overloaded me for a bit,” he says.

“Any of that stuff something that can be shared with me?” Takemi says, raising an eyebrow.

Akira considers it. He definitely trusts her, but there’s so much context she’s missing, and he’s not sure he’s up for hours of conversation.

“I’m going to leave out a lot that I don’t think is relevant,” he says. “So…I know it sounds really weird, but take it at face value, okay?”

Takemi nods. “I still remember the end of the world, kid, I can handle weird,” she says drily, and pulls out a notepad and pen.

“Okay.” Akira takes a deep breath. “The Phantom Thieves were still active in January, including me. We were facing an enemy who…” Patches in his memory loom large and dark. Now isn’t a good time to try to explore them. “…used to be a friend of mine. A, um. A counselor. From school.”

Takemi seems to tense a bit.

“There’s still a lot I don’t remember,” Akira admits. “Mostly about him, I think. I know I defeated him by myself, but I don’t remember how, and I know I was pretty stressed a lot of the time because of him, but I don’t remember exactly why. I _think_ it’s because I didn’t like fighting a friend. That’s the only thing that makes sense. But it doesn’t feel right.”

“This counselor,” Takemi says. “You were seeing him at school? For therapy?”

Akira nods. “Not anything in depth,” he says. “I was mostly helping him with his research into, uh, the same stuff the Phantom Thieves were dealing with. But he was pretty helpful whenever I had questions.”

“I see.” Takemi pauses. “You seem to be in a much better mental place than you were when we last met, so I’d like to ask some questions and perform some minor tests that relate to the problems you had then. Is that okay?”

Akira nods.

“Thank you.” Takemi’s voice is very calm, and her face neutral. “You had a bad reaction when I mentioned referring you to a therapist. Do you think that was because of this counselor?”

Akira tries to remember his last visit with Takemi. It’s a little blurry. He’s not sure he remembered all of it even a few hours after it happened. “I guess,” he says uncertainly. “But he wasn’t a bad person or anything, so I don’t know why that would happen.”

Takemi scribbles something down on her notepad. “I don’t expect you to remember everything immediately,” she says. “If you say you’re already remembering large parts of the month you’re missing, that’s great progress. For now, though, I’d like to try something. If you’re not comfortable with it, you can say no and I won’t do it. Can I touch your head?”

Akira remembers a numb feeling, his mind filling up with cotton as the world receded and his thoughts skittered in strange patterns.

Would that happen again?

He’s already in bed. Mona’s here. If it does happen, it might not last as long, and it might not feel as bad.

Even as his stomach twists, he nods.

“Okay,” Takemi says. She reaches out her hand slowly, and lets it lightly rest on Akira’s head.

The world seems much quieter.

She’s not smiling. Is she unhappy with him? He tries to think of why. Morgana’s on his lap and Sojiro’s over there--maybe she’s unhappy they’re here. They should be back home, where he’s not in the way.

That’s why he’s still wearing clothes, even when he’s in bed. If they go away, she’ll get on with it.

But his throat’s too clogged to tell them to leave, and anyway he doesn’t want to annoy them.

The hand on his head pulls

back.

Very calmly, Takemi says, “Kurusu? How’re you feeling?”

Whatever he was thinking dissolves into sludge, oozing thick and unpleasant down his skull. He swallows. “Bad,” he says.

Mona butts his head against Akira’s arm.

“That’s understandable,” Takemi says. “The good news is that you were only unresponsive for the ten or so seconds I was touching you, which is much better than the three minutes from last time. But of course any amount of that is bad.”

Akira pets Mona and doesn’t say anything.

Takemi writes something on her notepad and looks back up. “I understand if you’re not comfortable with continuing this,” she says. “I’d like to confirm if it’s only your head that causes this reaction. But if you don’t want to, I won’t.”

Akira doesn’t want to.

“Go ahead,” he says, as calmly as she was.

Takemi slowly reaches out and puts her fingers on his bare wrist.

His skin crawls. The feeling of her skin on his sends flickers of a nameless dread up his spine, makes his heart beat faster.

“How’s that?” she says, while her hand is still on him.

“Please stop,” he whispers, and she immediately pulls her hand back. The sensations fade after a few seconds.

“Bad again?” she asks.

He nods. Mona nuzzles his hand, and he pets him absently.

“Fortunately, you still responded while I was touching you,” Takemi says. “So while your reactions don’t seem to be limited to your head, they may not be as severe on other parts of your body.” She writes something on her notepad. “Are you comfortable with more tests? You can say no.”

He wants to say no.

…when was the last time he said it, anyway?

It feels like he should get some practice in.

“No,” he says.

Takemi nods. “I understand completely,” she says. “If you ever decide you want to experiment more with someone you trust, I recommend an environment similar to this one: a place you’re comfortable with, reliable supervision--” She jerks her thumb back at Sojiro, who straightens up a bit, perhaps at the implication that he’s helping in some way right now. “--and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve got yourself a therapy cat.” She grins down at Morgana. “Hey there, kitty. Good work.”

Morgana visibly preens.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect your reaction to the idea of therapy to be based on someone you already knew,” Takemi says. “My guess was that there was someone in the detention center who provided poor counseling to the inmates and you’d had bad experiences with them.”

Akira hesitates. He’s not actually sure that couldn’t have happened. “I still don’t remember much about the detention center,” he says. “So maybe?”

Takemi’s mouth twists. “That’s unfortunate,” she says. “I’d hoped your memory breakthrough would include it, since it seems the most likely source for much of what’s going on with you. But it can’t be helped.

“Now, the million-dollar question.” Takemi straightens in her seat, folds her hands in her lap. “Do you think you would be comfortable seeing a therapist?”

Akira tries to imagine it, and for a few seconds, it almost works. It probably wouldn’t be too different from what he’s doing now, talking to Takemi--

But in the back of his mouth is the faint taste of apple juice.

Words spoken in confidence, secrets spilled. Not big ones--never big ones--but the small complaints of stress, balancing too many things at once, frustrations over the other students still treating him like a criminal after months of model behavior. Thoughtful words on improving mental fortitude. Suggestions about mental exercises to keep his mind clear and calm even in stressful situations.

All of it _poisoned_ by--

Was he planning it even then--

Was _anything_ he ever said true or was it all meant to draw Akira in like the clueless kid he was, lower Akira’s defenses until breaking them was so easy Akira didn’t notice, was there even anything stopping him from putting his arm around Akira and saying something soft and reaching down and and and and and

Mona’s rubbing his head against Akira’s face again.

Sojiro’s standing next to the bed, jaw tight and eyebrows pressed together. Takemi’s still sitting, her face perfectly still.

Akira takes a deep breath. The thoughts are dissolving again, and he tries to cling to them, remember why his heart is beating hard against his chest, why his head is pounding. But it all turns to ooze, and all he’s left with is a terror he can’t explain.

It’s like there’s a monster in the room that he can’t see but knows is there; it could be in any corner, it could be doing anything, it could be about to devour him, but he doesn’t _know_ where it is or what it’s doing, just that it’s there. It could attack him at any moment, and all he can do is wait for it to happen.

Or maybe there isn’t a monster. How would he know?

“How long was that?” Akira asks quietly.

“About a minute,” Takemi says.

Sojiro exhales. Akira wonders how many years Sojiro’s aged in the last three days.

Akira swallows. “I don’t think I can see a therapist,” he says.

_Why_ can’t he? What isn’t he remembering? Where’s the monster?

Takemi nods. “Of course,” she says, and the subject is dropped.

She asks him a few more questions, easier ones, about his physical condition and how much sleep he’s been getting and if he’s been eating well. And then she says that’s all she has for now, and scratches beneath Mona’s chin, and says to contact her again in a few days even if he doesn’t have any more episodes, and she leaves.

Akira’s apparently been unconscious for a few hours, but he feels incredibly tired.

Sojiro and Mona both insist on him eating something before he goes to bed for the night, so he manages to finish most of a plate of curry before Sojiro closes Leblanc early and takes him back to the house.

Sleep goes…poorly, that night. He drifts in and out of it, never quite entirely unconscious. His mind conjures up flickers of warm smiles, a gloved hand burning like a brand against his skin, a soft bed in a brown room, and when he wakes all the images fade away, but the numb, hollow feeling they brought with them remains.

\---

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Makoto says, sitting in front of him in the booth, her face tight with contrition. “The last question I asked was obviously too much to put on you, given that we already knew one of your triggers is related to therapy.”

_Did_ they know? Akira doesn’t remember telling them. Oh, it must’ve been in the notes from Takemi. He wonders what else is in there, what other info they know that he doesn’t.

At any rate.

“You really don’t have to apologize,” Akira says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s an important question, and I was making a lot of progress. I’m not mad at you.”

Next to him, Futaba snorts. A little confused, Akira glances at her.

The corner of her mouth twitches. “That was one of the things Dr. Takemi said we might have to say a lot,” she says. “That we weren’t mad at you. Oh how the turntables.”

Akira remembers worrying that whatever he was or wasn’t doing was annoying the people around him. Still feels it, in a faint echo that crops up whenever he’s talking to someone besides Morgana.

“Um, and on that thought,” Makoto says delicately, folding her hands in front of her. “I want you to know that I did not consider temporarily taking the leadership position to be a burden. I knew it was an emergency situation, and I didn’t resent you for it or feel like you were being irresponsible.”

That sounds practiced. Akira resists the urge to smile. He wonders how much research she’s been doing on What To Say To A Person With Unexplained Mental Trauma.

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he says. “Lay it on me, guys.”

Makoto clears her throat. “Very well,” she says. “Haru, I believe you had one?”

Haru nods. “I was wondering this in January, actually,” she says, a little hesitantly. “Since you remember Akechi-kun, I was wondering if you ever spoke to him about…well…”

“You don’t have to be delicate about it, Haru,” Akira says, getting the overall impression of what she’s asking.

Haru straightens her shoulders. “If you ever spoke to him about my father’s murder,” she says firmly. “Or Futaba’s mother’s. Or any of them, really.”

Akira wants to tell her that he had long, detailed conversations where he drew out every drop of Akechi’s feelings about all the things he did or maybe had to do. He wants to have _had_ those conversations. But he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. “Besides running into each other once, I didn’t really get the chance to talk to him outside the Metaverse.”

Haru’s mouth sets. “I see,” she says. “I suppose that makes sense. He wasn’t very sociable.”

“I think he wanted to be, a little,” Sumire says suddenly. “Um, I spoke to him a few times. Not about anything serious. But he seemed very unhappy, and I think part of that was because he didn’t really have anyone to talk to.”

Didn’t have _Akira_ to talk to, more specifically. The reminder curdles in Akira’s stomach.

“But that’s a little off-topic, sorry,” Sumire says, waving her hands in front of her.

“No, I think…” Akira says slowly. “I think that’s important. That I wasn’t really talking to him.”

_Why_ wasn’t he? After Akechi died, there were so many things Akira wanted to say to him. Then he finally got the chance to, and he didn’t take it. Why not?

“To be honest, you weren’t really talking to any of us,” Ryuji says, shrugging. “After I spilled my guts to you about how shitty I felt over abandoning you, I kept trying to flag you down after school to see if you needed anything, but you always bolted before I could get a word in. I know Ann said you were doing the same to her.”

Ann nods. “By the end of the month, you were a total zombie in class,” she says. “I was really worried, but whenever I asked you about it you looked even worse. I’m pretty sure in the last week or so you didn’t say anything in the group chat at all.”

Akira vaguely remembers muting it, and feeling bad that he was muting it, because the others would just feel worse if they wanted to talk to him and he wouldn’t give them the time of day, and also feeling so relieved when he stopped hearing the notifications. He’d told himself it was better to get used to not talking to them. It was good practice for never seeing them again.

And he’s momentarily stunned at the memory, because why did he think _that?_

Because he thought they were mad at him, and wouldn’t want to? But even when he first came back from the detention center, hazy and skittish, he didn’t think they’d _always_ be mad at him. He thought if he was better, they’d like him. That’s at least understandable. But in the memory just now, he didn’t think they were mad, and he thought he’d never see them again anyway.

“Did I ever say anything to any of you about…leaving, or something?” Akira asks, looking around the group. “Not being around you guys anymore?”

Yusuke tilts his head. “Not in the chat, certainly, nor in person,” he says. Everyone else agrees.

Akira frowns. “I just remembered thinking that I was better off not talking to you, because at some point I wouldn’t be seeing you anymore anyway,” he says. “I don’t know why.”

“Well that’s effin’ weird,” Ryuji says eloquently.

“You were certainly standoffish, but I was unaware of anything that would result in you never speaking to us again,” Haru says.

Morgana’s been silent this entire time, and now, he finally speaks up. “I have a question, actually,” he says softly. “Or, I guess not really a question, just…a thing I haven’t mentioned yet because I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.”

The room goes still.

Morgana looks up at Akira. “Almost every night that month, you went out somewhere and you wouldn’t take me with you,” he says. “You always said it was something different, seeing Ohya or Lavenza or somebody, but in the last few days you let it slip that it wasn’t that, and that it was something important but you couldn’t tell me what it was.”

Akira…very vaguely remembers this. Morgana being mad at him for keeping secrets. Or him _thinking_ Morgana was mad at him.

“I think whatever it was, that was the thing making you really tired all the time,” Morgana continues. “The last time I saw you in February, you left to do it and didn’t come back. That night you…” He pauses, twitches his whiskers. “You…stayed somewhere? Or…no, I’m not sure…”

Morgana’s tail straightens. _“Now_ I remember!” he cries. “You left, and Futaba told me you sent her a text message saying you’d be staying somewhere that night, but it felt weird! But it only felt weird for like a second, and then it felt normal. I didn’t question it at all.”

Futaba nods. “Yeah, I remember that too,” she says. “It was kind of a weird text message, it used periods and everything. And then I thought it was normal, like Mona says.”

“So if our thoughts changed like that,” Morgana says, “it must’ve been--”

Akira can hear the invisible monster in the room shuffling closer.

He hasn’t said the name yet. No one else has. He _knows_ the name, could’ve said it if he wanted to. He just…hasn’t wanted to.

Maybe it hurts too much, to remember fighting a friend.

But what Morgana and Futaba are saying--the logical path runs straight and clear. Only one person could’ve changed their thoughts.

_Just say the name,_ he thinks. _There’s no point in trying not to think about it._

The name of--

“It was Maruki,” Akira says.

The word enters the air like a stone dropping in a pond.

Does the world feel different now that he’s said it? Has anything changed? The atmosphere’s shifted, somehow. Tenser. On edge.

Morgana’s tail flicks. “Yeah,” he says. “That guy.”

“Why’d he do that, though?” Futaba says. “Did he have your phone?”

The invisible monster breathes down Akira’s neck, and Akira has the abrupt realization that if this subject keeps going, something…he doesn’t know _what_ something, but something will happen.

A good thing? A bad thing?

Akira pulls all of his thoughts together to focus on facts. What’s a fact he can say. What’s a thing that he remembers happening, now that the questions are loosening the tangled knots in his mind.

“Those nights,” he says suddenly. “I was seeing Maruki.”

The invisible monster’s claws rest on his shoulders.

Makoto’s eyebrows press together. “Whatever _for?”_ she asks.

Akira pushes aside everything bubbling up in his mind. Something cold and strange is creeping up his spine, and he can’t let himself think about it. What’s something he can say. If he says something that sounds right then he can change the subject or ask them to change the subject or maybe he can stop entirely can he do that? If he asks them to leave they’ll leave and he can he can

The mantle of Joker slips over him like armor.

A trickster is a thief, but also a liar, and Akira withdraws into himself to let the liar work.

“I think I wanted to convince him to stop,” Joker says calmly with Akira’s voice. “And it wasn’t working. So I kept going back. And it stressed me out a little. Well, a lot, probably.”

“Oh, _Akira,”_ Haru says softly.

Ryuji shakes his head. “You can’t save everyone, dude,” he says.

“But it’s very much like you to try,” Yusuke says with a faint smile.

There, they bought it. Joker arranges Akira’s face into an appropriately chastened expression.

“But that still doesn’t explain why he had your phone,” Futaba says, her eyebrows pressed together.

“I don’t remember that yet,” Joker says lightly. “Maybe it’ll come later.”

Ann frowns. “And if you were trying to save him, why are you…kind of afraid of him?”

Joker blinks Akira’s eyes. “I wouldn’t say I’m _afraid_ of him,” he says.

“But you get freaked out when people talk about therapy,” Ann says gently. “That kind of sounds like fear to me.”

Joker shakes Akira’s head. “Brains are weird,” he says. “I don’t think it means anything.”

“I guess,” Ann says, but she doesn’t look at all convinced.

“Anyway, I’m getting a little tired,” Joker says. “I think that’s it for today, sorry.”

Makoto nods. “Of course,” she says. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

They chorus their goodbyes and well-wishes, and peel out of the shop, leaving him alone with Mona and Futaba.

Joker turns Akira’s body to Futaba. “Are you going back to the house?” he says. “I think I’d rather just go to bed now.”

Futaba nods. “Sojiro wants to make sure you eat dinner, though,” she says.

“I’m not hungry,” Joker says. “Maybe I’ll make some instant noodles later.”

Futaba’s eyes shine. “I got like every limited-time flavor they make, just lemme know,” she says.

Joker smiles with Akira’s mouth. “Can do,” he says.

Joker walks Akira’s body to the house, and sits Akira’s body on the bed, and gently slips away.

And then Akira’s back.

And Akira falls onto his side, and drowns.

_y ’re ve pec l t me, k us -k n_

_wan to ke yo fe l go d_

_le me ke c e of y_

_y ’re ev yth ’ve er wa d_

_be ut if l_

_be ut if l_

_be ut if l_

_be ut if l_

Just fragments. Just flickers. Half-syllables and blurry colors and dots of sensation, but there’s so many of them it’s like a downpour. Akira barely hears Mona’s frantic voice, or feels the furry head pressing against his cheek. He’s lost in a flood of flickering, fracturing memory.

The images and sounds may be barely possible to make out on their own, but the emotions that swirl around them…those are much easier to identify, in the way that it is easy to identify water when you’ve fallen into a lake.

Sick, nauseated dread. Fear like a choking fog. The heavy weight of grief for what he was preparing to lose, and crushing guilt over being selfish enough to not want to lose it. Great pools of suffocating numbness.

Akira can’t feel his body anymore.

He feels-------

a gloved hand stroking his cheek

petting his hair

caressing his back

slipping underneath his clothes

the faint coolness and smooth texture of tentacles winding around him

a tongue pushing past the seam of his lips

sometimes pain and sometimes pleasure until it became neither and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing

It feels a little like he’s dying.

It feels a little like he’s already dead.

And then it feels like fur.

Wrapped tight in his arms, pulled against his chest. Tickling his face. Nuzzling his neck almost frantically.

Distant words, coming closer: “You’re gonna be okay, you always come back, I know you’ll be okay, Akira, please--please be okay…”

The colors: light brown walls, not dark, not white. Furniture he’s only seen a couple times before. Paintings.

The temperature: not cold, but not warm. Except for the fur.

Put together facts. What does it add up to. Where is he.

He is--

He is lying on his side on the bed in Sojiro’s room.

The only other person here is Mona.

He is okay.

He is okay.

“I’m okay,” he rasps, his voice hoarse.

Bright blue eyes blink up at him. “Oh, thank goodness,” Mona says, high and thin. “Akira? That seemed…really bad.”

Akira starts unsticking his thoughts. “Yeah,” he says.

He’s lying on his side, Mona trapped in his arms. Mona’s body is wire-taut, but starting to slowly relax.

Akira loosens his arms. Mona stays where he is, though.

“Sorry if I was holding you too hard,” Akira says.

Mona shakes his head, and nuzzles Akira’s neck. “As long as it helped,” he says. “Did it?”

“I think so,” Akira says.

His thoughts are small and quiet.

“Do you want me to get Futaba?” Mona asks.

Akira thinks about it for a second. “No,” he says. “She’d just be worried. I’m all right.”

Is he?

In the ways that matter right now, yes.

“If you’re sure,” Mona says, and then for a while everything is quiet.

Then Mona asks, his voice small, “Did you remember something bad?”

Akira runs his hand down Mona’s back.

How much does Mona know about humanity?

He saw Kamoshida’s Palace. He knows why Shiho tried to kill herself, or at least it seems like he knows.

“Yeah,” Akira says.

Mona doesn’t ask. Akira can tell he wants to.

So after a while, Akira asks. About Shiho. About how much Mona knows.

And then Akira says some things.

And Mona is soft and furry and warm and stays there for the rest of the night.

\---

Akira doesn’t know if he wants to tell anyone else.

Would it help? They’d be horrified, they’d do their best to help him. But there isn’t really a way they _can_ help. And he already knows it’s horrifying. He doesn’t need other people telling him it is.

Should he tell Takemi?

But wouldn’t that just have the same result?

Takemi would have a better idea of what to do, though.

But she’s already said it, hasn’t she? It’s not her field. All she can really do is refer him to a person he can’t talk to.

So Akira doesn’t know.

It was hard enough telling Morgana, but Morgana’s his first line of defense. It’s…useful, for Morgana to have a better idea of what might cause reactions.

And maybe he did want to tell one person, at least.

When the group gathers once more in Leblanc, Akira says, in a normal voice, “I had a few breakthroughs after you guys left. I think I remember pretty much everything now, except what happened in prison.”

Everyone brightens. “That’s great!” Makoto says. She pauses. “Uh, as long as you’re feeling okay, that is.”

Akira nods. “It wasn’t all that much, really,” he says. “Just the things I said to Maruki, and some details about what I did during the week without you guys. I think I just needed to remember the big things before the little ones fell into place.”

Makoto nods. “That makes sense,” she says. “It’s unfortunate you still don’t recall the detention center, though. Do you think we could work on that?”

Akira shakes his head. “I don’t think this system would really work for that,” he says. “You don’t know what happened there either. And if it’s taking this long to remember any of it, maybe just asking questions wouldn’t lead to anything anyway.”

“Still, it’s troublesome,” Yusuke says with a frown.

Akira shrugs. “I’ve dealt with a lot of troubles,” he says. “I can handle it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Ann says quietly.

Akira’s heart twists at the concern radiating from everyone in the room. A few days ago he was confused by it, maybe a little scared; now he’s enough of himself to know it’s a good thing, but it still hurts.

“I know,” Akira says. “But none of us should have to, and we all do.”

The weight of that seems to settle in the room.

“As long as you’re feeling better,” Haru says. “Ultimately, that’s what matters. If you’re more or less happy, and you’re safe, and not remembering the rest of it doesn’t hurt you, then maybe it’s okay.”

“And on that front, actually, I do have a little news,” Makoto says. “My sister has been looking into the staff at the detention center, and is starting to put together a case against them. It might take a while, but she’s working on it.” She smiles. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her be so passionate about a case and still not worn down by it, honestly.”

“And I’ve got all their bank info,” Futaba says suddenly. “In case it’s needed. You know. For anything.”

Akira smiles. Some of the tension inside him lifts.

He’s got some pretty good friends.

Ryuji pumps his fist. “Fuck yeah,” he says with a grin. “It’s about time the justice system did something right, ain’t it? And even if it doesn’t, we got Futaba.”

Futaba makes a happy noise. Makoto seems to slightly glow with pride.

“I guess this is our real last act as phantom thieves,” Morgana muses. “Helping steal back our leader’s memories.”

Sumire giggles. “That’s a nicer-sounding way of putting it,” she says.

“And I’m sure we’re all extremely grateful we could help,” Yusuke says. “I must admit I felt a bit useless at first, but if what we did proved helpful to you, I can feel as proud of it as any of my works.”

Akira can’t help another smile. “You guys definitely gave me a boost,” he says.

“If there’s anything else we can help with, just let us know,” Ann says, looking directly into his eyes. “We’re always here for you, no matter what.”

Akira realizes that when it comes to some puzzles, Ann might be better at putting pieces together than the others.

But maybe she isn’t sure yet. And his uncertainty hasn’t changed, either.

Akira looks at her. “I know,” he says.

She seems to accept that, at least for now.

“Anyone else hungry?” Futaba asks, looking around. “If we don’t need to cut this short, I can go grab Sojiro and get him to dish up some dinner.”

Everyone indicates their interest, some more enthusiastically than others. Futaba leaves and returns with Sojiro in tow, and after some obviously feigned reluctance to feed so many people at once, they eat together for the first time in…Akira doesn’t remember how long.

It’s nice. Loud, too. Everyone’s in good spirits, and it seems like almost every trace of the concern that permeated all their recent gatherings has quieted down. They’re still worried, but not in a way that fills the room to an almost suffocating degree.

When everyone departs, promising to start using the old group chat again, Akira helps Sojiro out with the dishes. Futaba and Morgana sit at the counter.

While drying a plate, Sojiro says, “You know, seeing you those first couple days after you came back about near broke my heart.”

Akira scrubs the sponge against a scraped-clean plate. “If I said I was sorry, would you tell me not to?” he asks.

Sojiro snorts. “Brat,” he says fondly. “My point is, it’s damn good to see you acting like yourself again. I missed you, kid.”

“We all did,” Futaba pipes up.

Akira hesitates. “I don’t think I’m…completely back, yet,” he says.

“I figured,” Sojiro says quietly. “Don’t know how much help I can be with some of that, but you’re welcome to stay at the house as long as you need.”

Akira smiles. “You’ve helped a lot already,” he says. “I don’t think I would’ve done well staying in the attic these past few days.”

When he woke up after the nightmare, when he resurfaced from the flood--it helped, being in a place completely different from what he was remembering. Maruki’s been to Leblanc. Maruki’s been in the attic, even. But Sojiro’s bedroom is far from any association.

And the attic gets so cold at night. Akira thinks waking up cold would’ve been…bad.

Sojiro’s smile is crooked, but warm. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “Pass me another dish.”

Akira spends the evening talking with Sojiro and Futaba, and for the first time in days, doesn’t need to sleep early.

\---

Takemi taps a long nail against her notepad. “Based on that, I’d say you’re clear to have limited time without supervision,” she says. “How do you feel about school?”

Akira’s been thinking about school.

The student body’s gotten used to him, but…even if his classmates were told not to touch him, there’s no guarantee they’d all be kind enough to obey. And the other hundreds of students could bump into him in the hall, or the library, or anywhere. And what if touch isn’t all he needs to worry about? How many other monsters are lurking in his brain, smaller but awful nonetheless?

And moreover--moreover, if he had an episode at school, they’d send him to the…

Akira swallows back the taste of apple juice and says, calmly, “I don’t think I can do school yet.”

Takemi nods. “That’s my recommendation, too. It’s only been a few days. Maybe in a week or two we can reevaluate.”

A week or two.

Akira has been avoiding thinking about it, but…

There’s barely four left.

“Actually, I’m returning to my home town next month,” he says, so calmly. “So it might be better for me to skip the rest of the school year.”

Takemi pauses. “Is that a good idea?” she asks. “Returning home, that is.”

Returning somewhere, at any rate.

“I’m only enrolled at Shujin for the year,” Akira says. “When my probation ends, I’m required to leave.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Takemi says. Her mouth twists. “It’s a fucking awful idea.”

Despite himself, the corner of Akira’s mouth twitches. “You talk like that to all your patients?”

“I’m no psychologist, but even I can tell leaving your support structure and going somewhere no one knows what you’ve been through isn’t going to help you,” Takemi says flatly. “Can you talk to your parents about getting re-enrolled?”

Akira shakes his head. “I’m already enrolled at my old school for next year,” he says. “And they don’t really…listen to me much.”

Takemi huffs out a low breath. “Do you think they’ll at least pay attention if you tell them about your episodes?” she asks.

Akira hesitates. “Well…they might not really believe it until they see one,” he says. Until, not unless. He doesn’t have confidence that there won’t be any.

Takemi’s long nails dig into her palm. “But they’ll at least let you keep your cat, right?”

Akira nods. He can already picture his dad’s mild disapproval and his mom’s reluctant willingness to let Morgana stay ‘as long as you take care of it and it doesn’t distract you’.

“Well, that’s something,” Takemi says. “Do you think you’ll be ready for school when you go back?”

Akira honestly doesn’t know.

“I hope so,” he says quietly.

Takemi sighs. “I wish I could do more to help you,” she says.

“You’ve done plenty,” Akira says. “It’s a weird situation.”

Takemi gives a wry smile. “I’ll say,” she says. “If you ever walked in here and all you had was a cold I’d think you had a doppelganger.”

Akira cracks a smile, and they start talking about doctor’s notes for school.

\---

It’s been long enough that the bruises have gone down.

They’re still visible, but only a faint yellow, and the cuts have healed up completely. Touching his face doesn’t hurt anymore.

So one morning when Akira goes to the attic, he walks to his workbench and picks up the part of his wardrobe that he hasn’t been wearing.

It’s a spare pair. He doesn’t know what happened to the other one, or at least not what happened to it in this reality. But it looks the same, and it feels the same.

Akira carefully puts his glasses back on, and it feels like he’s slotting a missing puzzle piece into place.

Morgana looks up at him from the floor, tail flicking. “It was weird seeing you without them for so long,” he says.

It didn’t even occur to Akira that he _could_ put them on until the third day. If pressed, he probably would’ve been confused by the suggestion.

But the part of him that says he’s not allowed to wear them is quiet now, so he adjusts the rims and says, “Yeah, I missed them too.”

He misses a lot of things, but this is one he can have back.

\---

Akira ends up not going back to Shujin that year after all.

Ann brings him notes and assignments, and somehow Kawakami finagles him permission to take exams at home if she supervises. He never goes back to the building, never finds out if there are any monsters waiting near the nurse’s office.

He’s fine with that.

\---

And then it’s time.

Akira says his goodbyes, learns everyone’s plans. Promises to keep in touch, and means it.

Sojiro drives him to the station.

Akira sits down in an empty car, Morgana curled up on his lap, and stares out the window, and doesn’t think.

He keeps not thinking, until the train starts moving and a voice nearby says, “Is this seat taken?”

Akira looks over. There are enough empty corners in his mind right now to dampen any shock. “Not dead after all, huh,” he says.

“So it would seem,” Goro Akechi says, and sits down next to him.

Akechi looks exactly as he used to before January, right down to the uniform. There are probably a lot of questions Akira could ask. But he doesn’t really feel up for it.

Morgana looks back and forth between them, like _he_ very much wants to ask questions, but when Akira continues to not say anything about it, he settles back onto Akira’s lap and stays quiet.

“Where’s your stop, anyway?” Akira asks.

Akechi taps a finger against the armrest. “Haven’t decided yet,” he says.

Akira makes a noncommittal sound.

After some silence, Akechi says, “So, was it you who stole the Treasure after all?”

Akira nods.

“By yourself?” Akechi says, raising an eyebrow. “That must’ve been either quite the fight or spectacularly underhanded.”

“The latter, really,” Akira says.

“I don’t suppose that was your plan all along? Get in close and save everyone the trouble of a difficult battle?”

Akira shakes his head.

Akechi exhales. “Didn’t think so,” he says.

More silence passes.

“And now you’re just…going back,” Akechi says, gesturing towards the window. “Away from all of this and back into a life that I doubt fits you very much.”

“Yeah,” Akira says quietly.

“…well, I suppose you have your reasons,” Akechi says.

More silence.

Eventually, Akechi says, in an odd tone, “What did the others think when you told them about Maruki?”

“I didn’t, really,” Akira says. “I told them maybe half of it and lied about the rest.” He pets Morgana. “Except Morgana, anyway. He knows.” Morgana nuzzles Akira’s hand.

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “And they believed you?”

“I think Ann suspects,” Akira says. “But they’re my friends. They believe me.”

Akechi looks towards the window on the opposite side of the car. “So besides your cat and the man in question, I’m the only other person who knows what happened,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Akira says. “Guess that’s how it worked out.”

“And your future therapist, presumably.”

Akira cracks a bone-dry smile. “It turns out that’s not an option I’ll be up for any time soon,” he says.

Akechi looks back towards him. “Well,” he says. “That’s almost excessively awful.”

“Yeah,” Akira says heavily.

More silence.

“Do you…” Akechi hesitates. “Do you know where Maruki is now?”

Akira shakes his head.

“Really? I would’ve thought he’d come begging for your forgiveness, like all the other ones did.”

“I wondered if he might,” Akira says. “But he hasn’t.”

The change of heart did _happen,_ he’s sure of it. Mementos wouldn’t have been destroyed otherwise. And…if nothing about Maruki had changed, then…Maruki probably would’ve shown up again. Spun some bullshit story about difficult choices and smiled and put his hand on Akira’s shoulder and

Akira strokes the soft fur on Mona’s back.

“That’s a shame,” Akechi says. “It’d be fun to see him reduced to that state. Groveling and apologizing over and over and generally being a repulsive spectacle.” His smile is a small, sharp curve.

Akira’s stomach curdles. “I don’t think I want to see that,” he says quietly.

“Oh? I was under the impression seeing a villain on their knees loudly and tearfully displaying how they’ll be miserable for the rest of their life was what the Phantom Thieves were all about,” Akechi says.

Akira remembers Ann saying she wanted to see Kamoshida live to face what he’d done. That’s her right, he supposes. Her choice.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I just…” He exhales. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m just glad I didn’t see it.”

“You don’t _look_ glad,” Akechi says, but he doesn’t really sound accusatory, or even amused. It’s just a statement of fact.

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “I was having memory problems for a while,” he says. “Still am. So I didn’t even remember everything he did until a few days after I got out of prison, and a lot of the details are still foggy. But I remember the last thing I said to him.

“I said ‘It might take a really long time, but someday, I’ll never think about you again’. So…that’s what I’m waiting for. Because it turns out not thinking about him is really hard, actually.”

Akira’s hand lowers, and clenches at his jeans. “Thinking about him suffering is still thinking about him,” he says, as steadily as he can manage. “Seeing him be miserable would still be _seeing_ him. I want him _gone_ from my head and my life and every shitty memory that keeps cropping up when I see the kind of food he used to have in his office or hear someone compliment me or stay outside too long in cold weather. I shut down whenever someone touches me and a week ago I had a day where I got freaked out by the _color white,_ and I just want it all to _fucking stop.”_

He’s breathing faster than he should be; he tries to settle down. Mona rubs his head against Akira’s hand, and Akira pets him absently.

Akechi doesn’t say anything for a while.

Then he says, his voice a little awkward, “If Sakura were to track him down, I could, ah. Take care of it.”

Akira stares at him for a moment before the implication hits, and then he bursts out laughing.

The absurdity of it wipes away most of the rising bile in his throat. “Thanks,” he says, after the laughter subsides. “But you don’t need to do that. I’ll settle for just never seeing him again.”

“Nevertheless, the offer stands,” Akechi says, looking out the opposite window.

Strangely, Akira does feel a little comforted by that.

Akira exhales. “The change of heart means he’ll never do that to anyone else,” he says. “I’m trying to focus on that. He’s not in prison, but…he won’t _want_ to hurt anyone, at least. Whatever his reasons were, he doesn’t have them anymore. That’s enough, for now.”

It isn’t, not really. He may not want to think about Maruki but--all the other Palace rulers had consequences besides the loss of their desires. And Maruki didn’t. Maruki got away with it. Reality got rewritten and the only proof that it was ever different is the gouges in Akira’s mind. He knows the world isn’t fair, but it doesn’t feel _right_ that as far as he knows, Maruki’s out there living a normal life.

But Akira can’t let that consume him. Anger won’t help, doesn’t even feel good. If he lets himself get tangled up in the bitter injustice lurking at the corners of his mind, it’ll only keep Maruki in his head longer, and he’s so fucking tired of Maruki being in his head.

“If that’s how you’re choosing to see it, I suppose I can’t stop you,” Akechi says, and he doesn’t look judgmental about it. Maybe a little sad. Maybe a little thoughtful. It’s hard to tell with Akechi.

Akira nods.

He looks out the window. The scenery passes by quickly, leading him inexorably towards whatever’s going to happen next.

Something hard, probably. Something that might undo some of the progress he’s made, at least for a while.

But--

Morgana noses against his hand, and says, “You wanna get a nap in? Not much to do while we wait.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, I’ve got some thinking to do,” he says.

“Well, suit yourself,” Morgana says, and closes his eyes, curls into a cat ball. Akira idly strokes the top of Morgana’s head. Still soft, still furry. Even though the world seems less off-kilter now, it’s still nice.

His phone buzzes; he pulls it out, checks the group chat. Makoto’s saying something about how the new third-years need to start thinking about entrance exams. Ryuji’s saying something about how his phone seems to be malfunctioning and didn’t get her last message.

Next to him, Akechi sits at a safe distance, not dead and maybe not completely okay but a far cry from the furious, tired boy of a couple months ago.

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Akechi says quietly. “But I would like to offer whatever I can.”

The weather’s warming up, drifting away from cold winter air. Whatever else his home town is, it’s a place Maruki’s never been.

“I’d appreciate that,” Akira says, just as quietly. He found the glove when he was packing. It’s in his duffle bag now, with all the other little emblems of his bonds, and he was already planning to keep better track of it, but now he has even more reason to.

Akira looks back out the window, seeing a face that looks just the same as it did months ago, bruises and dark circles gone, thinning flesh filled back out. His reflection in the window shows himself. The person he is, the person he was, the person he could be. It’s all just him.

And for just a second, the reflection changes. A black coat, a high-collared gray shirt, a domino mask.

Joker winks at him before slipping back into his soul.

Akira cracks a smile.

His last words to Maruki will come true eventually, and even if they don’t, he is surrounded by things Maruki could never take from him. The spirit of rebellion burns as bright inside him as it ever did.

As it always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It's been an interesting experience writing this fic, and I'm glad it managed to get some readers, because I wasn't sure it would. I'm incredibly humbled by the people who've told me that this resonated with their own experiences; since I have extremely little personal experience with the subject matter, 99% of this fic is either drawn from other people's accounts of what they've been through/a variety of other works of fiction, or just me guessing, so I'm relieved to hear I got it right somehow. 
> 
> To everyone who left a kudos, wrote a comment, made fanart, or talked about it: I can't thank you enough. This story wouldn't exist without your support. It's not really a popular topic these days, but I think stories like these are worth telling. There's a place for dark works of fiction in the world, even ones that have less hopeful endings than this one. I hope that in some small way, this story provided a bit of catharsis to people who need it.
> 
> Take care of yourself, everyone. And thanks for sticking with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this amazing fanart!
> 
> [Anonymous](https://twitter.com/futuresoonest/status/1310734160160460800)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1313255861075292162)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1313267846663856128)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1314373044878692352)  
> [BottomClown](https://twitter.com/BottomClown/status/1316135834811273218)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1316138581019287552)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1318336630835548161)  
> [Fae](https://twitter.com/faeidolon/status/1320861136439382017)  
> [Maradine](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine/status/1320864912806129666)  
> [Toko](https://twitter.com/stokori/status/1324446658348916740)  
> [Soy](https://twitter.com/EmoStuntTwink/status/1324861805513027586)  
> [BottomClown](https://twitter.com/BottomClown/status/1325979188227170311)
> 
> Can we get a three cheers for Maradine, because damn.
> 
> You can find me at [Tumblr](http://www.futuresoon.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/futuresoonest).


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